Fabricated Truths
by leo-lehcarth
Summary: Idea from Tigersflame. Femmeslash, Fleur/Hermione. What happens when Hermione and Fleur are both facing the same problem? How else is there to solve it other than to put aside their differences and work together?
1. Dogged

_A.N: Heya! I got this idea from **Tigersflame**, so many thanks to him for it xD Anyway, even though my common tests are like...2 days away, I just have this irresistable urge to write. Yep, and so, new story_!

_Background info: This will be set in the Trio's fifth year at Hogwarts, and it starts off with Hermione and Ron at Grimmauld Place, in the same room which Harry had originally entered when he first arrived. But in this story, Harry has yet to arrive at Grimmauld place._

_Disclaimer: I own nothing except for my fingers; J.K Rowling deserves all the credit for coming up with the amazing world of Harry Potter._

_So, read and review, let me know if I should continue! Review will be greatly appreciated. =)_

**Fabricated Truths**

Chapter 1- Dogged

The house was quiet; barely a sound could be heard. Dust particles floated in the musty air, and could barely be seen with the poor lighting in the house. Grime lined the walls, floor and the name of the place. Grimmauld Place.

Faded curtains moved gently near the entranceway, but there was not even a slightest breeze. The air was still, so still that it was as though time had frozen. The curtains concealed not a window, neither a doorway, nor a priceless treasure. It hid a portrait, a remembrance of the Dark origins of the house, a history that could never be forgotten or removed.

Fleur lazily maneuvered herself up the grimy, wooden stairs; bored. The rest of the Order were busy with their own things, and were either in one of the many rooms in the house, or out risking their lives against the risen Dark Lord. With so many people in the house, one would expect the house to be bustling with life and activity. But no. The house remained solemn and cold.

There was never anything interesting to do around the place, unless you regarded cleaning as an entertainment. The round, plump and caring Mrs Weasley would probably think that way, but not Fleur Delacour. Fleur (Cold) Isabelle (Phlegmatic) Delacour. She never liked the traditional Muggle way of cleaning, and would rather make use of her wand. But Mrs Weasley thought that when one has the time, the traditional way would make the task more fulfilling, providing a sense of satisfaction after the chore was completed. Mrs Weasley could enjoy spending the whole day on chores, but not Fleur. She would rather lock herself in her room. And that was what she planned to do.

The Frenchwoman took her time as she made her way up the stairs, careful not to touch the railings or the walls on the other side, which were lined with the wrinkled, shrunken heads of generations of house-elves. Inwardly, the witch cringed in disgust. It was not the sight of the heads that made her felt that way, but the act behind the framed heads. Apparently, it was a great honor to the house-elves to have their head displayed on the wall, though Fleur could not see anything honorable that could be gleamed from it. Instead, she found it a gruesome and cruel act, to butcher and decapitate house-elves once they are too old to lift a teacup. Back at home, her family always regarded the house-elves as part of the family, and they were treated just like equals, with respect and care. Unfeeling though Fleur may seem, she could never stand the inhumane treatment given to house-elves, though she had never admitted it to anyone. Perhaps it was because of her Veela heritage, which had probably given her the heart to empathize with mistreated magical creatures.

Fleur stopped at the staircase landing; it seemed like there was a heated argument going on in the boys' room. A highly agitated voice rung out, but it (thankfully) was not loud enough to rouse Mrs Black from her slumber. Still, the lone lady was able to catch what the shrill voice was going on about.

"Ron, could you at least put yourself in her shoes? At least use that stagnant mind of yours to THINK. Would you enjoy having someone drooling and paddling after you like some desperate dog?!"

"You are calling me a dog?!"

"So what if I am? Your behavior totally resembles one! And let's not forget; your Patronus _is _one. It's a no wonder. Patronuses are supposed to reflect the individual anyway. Ha. How fitting."

Inside, a muffled stomp. The girl's tone was harsh and low and Fleur could just imagine Hermione throwing all her sarcasm and anger at the red-headed boy, who, Fleur must admit, she somewhat detested. He just love to come up with excuses to keep her in his view, stalking her and tagging after her, like…Fleur smirked as she thought of what Hermione had said; a dog. She could not agree with the younger girl more.

"You're just jealous that Fleur's good-looking." Ronald's tone was defensive, but his words were harsh. Fleur, who could not be bothered with the argument, was about to continue her route up the stairs, but stopped the moment she heard Ron's reply. Of course, she knew that her looks were way above average; she was after all, a part-Veela. What made her stop in her tracks was not the compliment though. She waited at the landing, curious to know what the brunette would say in her own defense.

"Why should I be?"

The words were dripping with spite. A brow twitched subconsciously; Fleur could just imagine Hermione's reaction to the boy's words. It was clear that the boy had hit a nerve.

Fleur knew that Hermione disliked her. Take note, not hate; but dislike. Strong, intense dislike. She never found out why, for she has never really gotten the chance to speak with the brunette. Even if she had, she was sure that the conversation would end in a cold war. Relations were never warm between the two of them; they were like the Northern and Southern Poles of the earth, never meeting face-to-face. It was quite a feat, considering that both of them were sharing a room with Ginny. Whenever Fleur woke up, Hermione's body heat would have already been lost from her bed; and whenever Fleur decided to turn in for the night, she would find Hermione already fast asleep in her own bed. Hermione was evasive, the way a prey would avoid its predator. She would always find a way or another (and she never run out of ideas) to avoid the blonde; and as a result, their routes never clashed, and they never met face-to-face. Not once.

Contact between them was not minimal; it was non-existent.

Which was why she found Hermione standing up for her unexpected; she thought that Hermione would not want to have anything to do with her. The brunette had all along treated her like a piece of the dusty, overlooked, forgotten furniture, and had not spoken a single word to her ever since she arrived at Grimmauld Place.

Yes, Fleur has joined the Order after her last year at Beauxbatons, joining the fight against the most infamous Dark Wizard of the wizarding world. Her last year at Beauxbatons was not literally _at _Beauxbatons; it was spent at Hogwarts, where she took part in the Triwizard Tournament, in a competition for fame and glory. Both of which she already possess, thanks to the Veela blood in her. Fame? As the most popular and well-known girl to ever step foot into Beauxbatons. Glory? Her beauty and brains glorified her. Fleur graduated from the school with results that was rivaled by none. And, though she was not a full Veela, but merely a quarter, she was still as stunningly beautiful as one. And that was not purely a good thing, for it gave Fleur as much problems, if not more, than benefits.

For one, it brought about much unwanted attention, of which a good example would be Ronald Weasley. Fleur hated it, but it was not like she could blame her entranced admirers, for they could not help being pulled under her thrall. Men fall prey to her thrall, and women? Their jealousy were unimaginable.

And her thrall was the cause of the quarrel between Hermione and Ron. Truthfully, Fleur felt slightly guilty, though she would never admit it. She would rather put on a nonchalant front, and just pretend as though she did not hear anything. Call it ego, call it pride, but Fleur would shoot you down. Fleur was never one who liked to worry herself over others, and none has succeeded in making her do so, unless they were family. Her heart was safely locked in its chamber, never to be touched. Harsh reality has taught her not to be too trusting and empathetic to the plight of others. Her mother has brought her up meticulously, and taught her to be wary of people so as to protect her from all sorts of people that would bring her harm. And Fleur has learnt well, and had grown up to be a fine, young lady. With an ice-cold heart that could freeze the whole of hell.

But no, not this time. Hermione's gallant act thinly scratched the surface of her heart. Never before has anyone been so thoughtful towards her, and she, however much she would deny it, did felt slightly thankful to Hermione for her gracious act. Though it barely grazed across Fleur's heart, it still left a mark; it still _touched _her heart; whether superficial or not was not the main point. No matter the reason why the brunette had done what she did, Fleur, deep inside, did felt slightly thankful. _Slightly, _but it was a start. The brunette was the first, and probably the last, to be considerate of her feelings. And that was what Fleur felt thankful for. Even if it did not mean much to the girl, it meant a lot to Fleur. For someone who seemed to have everything money can buy in the world, Fleur was never happy.

She was highly curious, not to mention suspicious, of the girl's intentions though; that she would never deny. Hermione _dislike _her. Why would she be bothered by Ron's constant drooling over Fleur? Wouldn't she be happier with the fact that Ron would make Fleur uncomfortable with his behavior?

Rapid movement could be heard from the other side of the door, which flew open before Fleur could do anything. And there she stood facing the door, a deer caught in the headlights, a Fleur caught by Hermione.

The moment could not get any more tensed, and the two just stood rooted at their positions, glaring at each other. Hermione's face was contorted with intense dislike, her mouth a mere thin, twitching line. Fleur was an icy cold sculpture, her porcelain face revealing no emotions. Cliché as it sound, icy blue met smoldering brown. Nonchalance met anger.

Fleur found the situation funny. Yes, _funny. _As in hilarious, amusing, laughable _funny. _She was caught listening in (eavesdropping) to a quarrel which she was the cause of. By Hermione. The situation was almost…comical. And Fleur responded to it with a smirk.

Hermione though, could not see the humor behind the situation. She was taken aback to find Fleur right outside the door, and her first worry was that Fleur had overheard everything. She did not want that blonde bimbo to laugh at her for being so…considerate. It was not impossible; the blonde would probably think of her as a naïve little girl who believes that life _can_ be a bed of roses. And there, Fleur was smirking; probably mocking her naivety. Hermione glared back in her own defense. Her glare was the only thing that she have in control; her only weapon (defense) against the blonde. And she held onto it with her life.

Fleur could sense the other girl's fear behind that intense glare. Not surprising, Veelas are intuitive, emotional creatures. So Hermione was not angry, hmm? But afraid. For what, though? Fleur was curious. She would just have to confront the girl later. It would also give her a chance to find out why Hermione had gone against Ron for her.

The blonde witch did not reciprocate the dislike of the younger one. Instead, she just held eye contact, meeting the brunette's challenging gaze with one of…disinterest. She was not interested in wasting her energy reciprocating the feelings just because the brunette disliked her. However, something about the brunette interests her. Fleur was curious to know what ran through the girl's mind; why she did whatever she had done, and why she dislike Fleur so much. If Hermione were any other woman, Fleur would have just ignored her hostility totally.

Seeing that Fleur has no intention of moving before she does, Hermione whipped around angrily and ran upstairs. What followed was the slamming of a door (most likely into the girls' room's door).

Nevertheless, Fleur continued her route upstairs, undeterred by a pissed Hermione. Floating pass the open door of the boys' room as she continued her way up, Fleur thought that she had saw a sullen-looking Ron slumped on one of the beds. Not a thought was spared for the boy, whom Fleur, of course, ignored.

Standing outside the girls' room, nothing could be heard. It was as though no one was in the room. But of course, Fleur knew better. Slender fingers wrap around the doorknob, and with a gentle twist, the door swung open silently. Fleur smirked; Hermione did not even lock the door. The girl really should learn to be less complacent. She had probably thought that Fleur would not follow her up; and she had obviously thought wrong.

Fleur slid into the room with grace, and smiled at Hermione, who, seated on her bed and hugging her pillow, was staring up at her with a disbelieving look. That was soon replaced with a guarded and wary expression. Dislike was painted with large, bold strokes on her face.

"What do you want?"

Fleur chose not to answer, but sauntered over to the edge of Hermione's bed, where she sat herself down. Hermione was momentarily taken aback by the blonde's boldness, and brought her knees up to her chest defensively.

"Why are you here?"

"_Tsk tsk_, so demanding. You could use a few lessons on _respect, _hmm?"

"Don't treat me like a kid, Fleur. You are hardly in the position to teach me anything. Talk about respect? Shouldn't you have knocked the door before you enter?"

"Hmm? Why should I? This is my room too, non?"

Her reply knocked Hermione off her rhythm momentarily.

"Wh-what if I was changing? Haven't you heard of _privacy?_"

Fleur laughed, "Privacy? I've never known what that was. And you know that." Her blue eyes stared straight into the deep brown depths of Hermione's. "And we're both women, are we not?"

Hermione did not reply. Fleur took a deep breath, and said in a low tone so quiet that Hermione had to strain her ears.

"Yes, I have never known what _privacy is_. No one has ever respected mine, aside from my own family. They may think that not bothering me means respecting my privacy, my solitude. But with their penetrating eyes and their ever-wandering gaze, I never had my own privacy. I am under surveillance, twenty-four seven, my every move being tracked by mindless people."

Hermione advert her eyes away from Fleur's. The blonde's piercing stare was making her very much uncomfortable. But if Fleur had notice Hermione's discomfort, she gave no signs.

"Which is why…I'm here...to thank you."

Hermione swiftly turned to face Fleur in shock, so fast that her neck almost cracked. And what met her widened eyes surprised her even more. Fleur steadily gazed into the molten chocolate of her eyes, and though the blonde's face remain cool and calm, Hermione saw something that she never thought she would see in the blonde's eyes.

Sincerity. The slightest hint of warmth in the freezing ocean of blue.


	2. Fabricated Façades

_A.N: Yay! Thanks for the reviews! I love you people xD I'll try to reply to all your reviews (if I can), but for those that I could not send a personal reply, I shall address them here xD Don't worry, the chapters will get longer as I go along=) _

_klosshave- Ah yes! Really? Haha, read on and you'll see what happen xD Common test was a disaster =( But, I'm curious, are you from Singapore too?  
madridcc, funinthesun, muggles- Thanks for the reviews! _

_All right, enough of my nonsense xD Enjoy!_ _(But don't forget to make my day with reviews!)_

Chapter 2- Fabricated Façades

Fleur left the room after thanking Hermione. She did not leave immediately, though; it was not until after one minute of drowning in the brunette's eyes did Fleur managed to kick her brains into action again and scooted out of the room. There was something about Hermione's eyes that drawn Fleur in; something so simple and ordinary, yet different and unique at the same time. Fleur thought that her eyes actually made her felt much warmer, and there was a sense of security that Fleur had never thought she could get from anyone other than her family. But she shook away this thought as soon as it came up in her mind.

That was the first time (in eons) that Fleur had actually _thanked _somebody, and it felt awkward. Fleur felt awkward, and that was not something that happen often.

The feeling of being in debt to someone was a new experience to her, for she has never liked herself to be dependent on any others before. And now that she has an idea of what it felt, Fleur had to admit that, it was…not a nice feeling_. _She felt as though her status had been downgraded straight to the basement, and for a Delacour like her...it was a difficult thing to accept.

Especially when she was in the debt of the person who dislike (she still has no idea why) her to the core. Perhaps it was because of Fleur's pride, or her reluctance to appear weak and dependent like any normal human being, that caused her so much unease.

But still, the unchangeable fact remained.

Fleur was in debt to Hermione.

And Fleur was not like what the stupid rumors (amongst the girls) had painted her to be throughout her schooling years. At least, not _entirely. _She may have appeared to be stuck up, unfeeling, cruel and cold, but those ultimately, were still merely _appearances._ Deep inside, her feelings were locked up. Locked up safely so that she would never be hurt, so that her weaknesses would be carefully masked and hidden, so that she would not appear _vulnerable _and _weak, _like so many others.

However, she did have the capacity to feel, to show gratitude, to show compassion, unlike Ron with his 'emotional range of a teaspoon'. The only difference was that, Fleur was not used to blatant displays of feeling. She could be rather blunt and stubborn at times, but never with her emotions. She would bring out her emotions in her own unique way, which only Fleur herself, and the people who knew her well, would understand.

Of course, Hermione does not fall into that particular category, which was why Fleur had to blatantly express her (slight) gratitude to the brunette's actions. And Fleur certainly had not expected such a reaction from the other girl.

Hermione was in too much of a shock to remember her signature scowl in front of Fleur. Liquid chocolate brown orbs of the brunette solidified into a hard, impenetrable earthy brown, standing out in her face of void. _Priceless_, Fleur thought. She had never thought the brunette as someone who could actually be rendered incapable of speech. It was _cute _though.

Wait, where had that came from? Fleur mutely shook her head and ran her fingers through silvery-blonde hair; throwing off the imperturbable façade that she always have on when she was not alone, like another piece of the expensive clothing draping her tall, slender frame.

The brunette actually looked quite…_pleasant_ without that scowl disfiguring her face.

The brunette seemed unable to come up with an appropriate response and continued meeting Fleur's questioning, inquiring eyes with a blank, expressionless face. Fleur just sat on the thin mattress, and tried to coax a reaction out of the other woman with her eyes. To no avail.

When it had became obvious that none was about to come any time soon, the blonde then rose from her position and glided out of the room, and had left a seemingly Stupefied Hermione in the shadows of the room. Hermione had silently watched as the woman slipped out of the door, unable to think of anything intelligent to say.

Fleur smirked as she continued her way back downstairs; finding amusement in the fact that she had just rendered the brainy witch speechless. She had left before Hermione had gotten back enough sense to work her tongue to articulate some intelligent retort. It would be too awkward to stay in the same room with Hermione. She was not expecting the brunette to respond, anyway, so it had not made much of a difference. That girl looked as though she had received the full impact of a pure-blooded Veela's thrall, being rendered incapable of even the most fundamental actions like blinking.

Was gratitude really something that people would not expect from her? Fleur mused, with a corner of her lips gently curving upwards in an amused smirk. Surely she was not that lofty in front of people?

Maybe slightly, Fleur thought, but surely not so to the extent that even gratitude seem to be out of her world?

Or was it the other way around?

Entering the dull, poorly furbished living room, Fleur made her way to a faded couch for three, and slid on top, stretching her body out sideways almost felinely, feeling the while resting her head upon her arm on one of the arm-rests, wondering what else she could do to while time away.

There was nothing to do in the stuffy, old mansion, and Fleur was getting rather fed-up with being cooped indoors twenty-four seven. She thought that she must have been crazy to take up Dumbledore's offer, but then again, maybe not.

The gifted witch had always wanted to be involved in the resistance movement against the Dark Lord, though she never really figured out the reason why. She hated Voldemort for killing so many innocents throughout the long, dark years; and breaking up so many families that could have led happy, carefree lives. And, her hatred had stemmed from her parents.

Her mother and father were part of the anti-Voldemort movement back in France, and Fleur knew that they had gone through a lot. When she was young and inquisitive, she had always hid herself in some nook or cranny where she could not be seen, and listened in to her parents' hushed whispers about the going-on. She heard her mother weeps when her close friends were killed, her father's rage when an ally was captured. She heard so much, so much for such a young child, that she started to hate the man, no, make that _beast_, who was causing the wizarding world so much pain, blood and tears.

Fleur knew that her parents would never let her join the French anti-Voldemort movement; they loved her too much. And thus, Fleur had accepted Dumbledore's offer to join the Order of Phoenix on a rebellious impulse. Her parents were busy enough back in France; there was no way they could exert their control over their daughter in Britain. The Order needed new blood, Dumbledore had said, and so she joined. She ended up having a heated quarrel with her parents, and left in her moment of pique. And then, the Grimmauld Place was where she ended up.

Fleur did regret her hasty actions after that, as she thought of all that she had left behind in France. Gabrielle, her parents, her grandmother… She wrote back to apologize, but she still kept her decision of staying as part of the Order. Fleur wanted to prove to her parents that she was no longer a child, and that she was capable of looking after herself.

But still, Dumbledore thought that she was too young to be out risking her life, even though he had accepted her into the Order. Fresh out of school at the age of eighteen, Fleur had not seen enough to be out risking her life. And thus, she had to stay in the Headquarters and do miscellaneous stuff like paperwork and…Fleur thought grimly; _cleaning the house._

Glancing around the caliginous living room, Fleur wondered why there was no single form of entertainment present, not even the Muggle black box that could show pictures and emit voices. If she had remembered correctly, her father had said it was called a _television_. The wizarding community in France then seemed, to Fleur, so much more up-to-date with Muggle technology then the Britain wizarding community. She assumed that it was because the English were too traditional and backwards.

Fleur sighed, and languidly glanced around. The moth-eaten curtains near the entrance-way caught her eye. It was then she figured out why there was no Muggle technology in the vast mansion. How she had forgotten that; Fleur was unsure. But now that she thought back to the day she first arrived, when Nymphadora Tonks, that bubbly woman with the ridiculous pink hair, tripped over an umbrella stand, and the sequence of events that followed through so rapidly, the explanation was pretty clear to her.

The Blacks, save for Sirus, hated Muggles and Muggle-borns (whom they contemptuously called "Mudbloods"), so naturally, they looked down on Muggle inventions and their _feeble _attempts to 'create' magic through them. The Blacks were quite notorious in the olden days thanks to their belief in the superiority of their own race and blood-line, and it was quite well-known that they rejected and scorned half-bloods and…_half-breeds _too_._

_Like herself_, Fleur thought angrily.

Scuttling sounds in the corner derailed her train of thoughts and Fleur glanced toward the source of distraction. A small cupboard beneath the stairs had swung open to reveal a small, scruffy, house-elf draped in a filthy, ragged pillowcase. Fleur wrinkled her nose slightly in distaste; a stench had raid the still air in the living room. A slight bit of pity for the house-elf shot through the blonde; at least her family's house-elves had clean, proper clothing after her mother convinced them to wear it, and that it symbolized acceptance into the family, not the other way round as traditions had stated. They had reluctantly agreed at first, unwilling to go against the rules that defined their status, but eventually accepted it and happily served the family.

She glanced at the house-elf with neutrality, and he looked back with a fearful look. Was she that scary? Then, Fleur heard the house-elf mumbling under his breath.

"and there she lay, tainting my Mistress favorite couch…Oh, what should Kreacher do? Mistress will be angry…That half-breed Veela girl looks lonely…oh, now that half-breed Veela girl is looking at me… whatever will Mistress say? The Royal House of Black is filled with blood-traitors and a Mudblood, and now even filthy half-breeds…Mistress will be angry…Oh, what should poor Kreacher do? Kreacher has failed Mistress Black, oh yes, Kreacher has failed Mistress Black…"

Fleur stiffened the moment she caught what Kreacher had said, and all sympathy she had felt for the house-elf was driven cleanly out of her. She did not appreciate being called a half-breed, and she never would. It was an insult to her, to her mother and sister, to her family, and to her kind; and no doubt Fleur was furious that the insolent elf had boldly said it right in front of her, with not a single ounce of respect to her presence.

"..oh yes, the veela girl do look lonely. Why doesn't she go look for her traitor friends…maybe the mudblood Granger? Oh, the filth that taints this royal mansion…Mistress will be livid when she hears of this…"

MUDBLOOD?

That was the final straw; the blonde was fuming. She shot him a glare so cold that it could freeze the house-elf, and it did. Kreacher caught her eye, and was rooted to the spot momentarily in fear. Then, with a hoarse squeak, Kreacher hurried out of the living room and into the kitchen, mumbling rapidly under his breath. Fleur thought she caught the words "half-breed" and "filth" as he passed.

Fleur would not give a damn if someone insult her, but she absolutely _loathed it when _people with no guts choose to insult others behind their backs. Well, Fleur was not at Grimmauld Place long enough to know that Kreacher does that everytime, but that wasn't the point.

Huffing in irritation, she settled back into her previous, comfortable position. She had shot up rigidly when she heard that insulting word from the elf. Even thinking about the house-elf could set her blood boiling.

It just took an insolent, _filthy_ elf to ruin her day.

But it was not expected that Fleur would smirk when the thought ran through her mind. No.

Fleur just noticed the irony that the house-elf had called her filth (even though he did not meant it literally), when he was not the cleanest thing in the world. The little rag-ball. Why, she was sure even Mandy and Kennie (Delacour family's house-elves) would turn their noses up at the crude elf.

The encounter with Kreacher only made Fleur miss home more, especially when it directed her thoughts to her family's house-elves back at her family home in France.

Fleur picked at a small hole in the couch, toying with the idea of returning back upstairs to get a book, but in the end decided against it. The brunette was most probably still in the room, and Fleur did not really fancy another awkward moment with her. Especially when she just let go of the _high-and-mighty_ _Fleur_-çade in front of the girl, and also, she still has no idea of what was going through the brunette's mind. She was not really that keen to bring down more of her barriers just because of one girl.

Hermione.

"Um..ah…F-Fleur?"

Fleur whipped her head towards the stuttering figure in the entrance-way.

A mess of shocking, red hair greeted her eyes first. There stood a muscular, toned body in Muggle-wear; dark, grey jumper and ripped jeans. Fleur raised a surreptitious eyebrow at the flushed face of Bill Weasley, who (Fleur could not helped but think) resembled a tomato.

"Ah, oui?" Fleur could not help being slightly cautious, but her caution was not unnecessary. Bill's eyes were roving over her outstretched legs, and he was not making the least bit of effort to hide his obvious lust.

_Damn._

Fleur subconsciously pulled her legs in, and sat up into a less suggestive position. Still, Bill could not keep his eyes off her. It was until then that Fleur realized Bill has been pulled in by her thrall, which was going off rather strongly when she was angry with Kreacher the house-elf.

With one massive hand running through his mop of unkempt hair (which was usually pulled neatly into a ponytail), Bill attempted a smile, which only appeared to Fleur as a perverse smirk.

Bill marched over with his broad chest puffed out, and fell into the armchair facing the couch in a supposedly nonchalant manner. Fleur could not help but roll her eyes, which went unnoticed by the dazed Weasley being controlled by lust, not senses.

"Y-you look nice today," the man deliberately emphasized on the word 'nice', as if he was referring to a succulent-looking piece of meat. Fleur could taste the double entendre in the statement, of course. The lust-filled air was getting really difficult to breathe.

"Um, thank you?"

"I just came back from my shift, ah, you know." Fleur gave a small, infinitesimal nod to acknowledge. But her face remained cold.

"So, eh, how are things going on here? You enjoying yourself?" Bill continued his feeble attempt to make the conversation last, apparently still not noticing that Fleur was totally not interested.

Fleur would probably have enjoyed herself more if Bill was not there, but she kept her comment to herself. A small smile was forced upon her features, looking out of place as she nodded her head again. She noticed that the man was finding it difficult to keep his gaze in a safe place; they kept wandering away from her face and to her ample front. And then further down to…

*Ahem*

Bill shot out of his daze, and his eyes darted back to Fleur's face, his face burning.

"Fleur?"

"I appreciate your concern, Monsieur Weasley, but I have some things that I need to do," Fleur rose from the couch, brushing off her Levi's jeans, taking care not to attract too much attention to her legs. "Please excuse me."

With a smile that never reached her eyes, the blonde turned her back toward the man, who continued to stay frozen in his armchair, his lust-filled eyes fixated on the perfect figure of the retreating Delacour.


	3. Damnations

_Review replies:  
frog, Jen, Aeleorn, muggles - Thank you for your reviews!  
chill- Haha, you'll know when the next few chapters are up xD  
chibi- Bill? I think this chapter will make everything clearer =)_

_A.N: I apologise for not updating for so long! July has been a busy month for me =/ Also, promotional exams are coming in less then two months time. I really need to study :( But I'll (of course) continue to write when I can=) Hope you guys will enjoy this chapter!_

_p.s- Review please! I love reviews! xD_

**Chapter 3: Damnations**

Fleur retreated upstairs coolly with swiftness, glad to be away from the presence of Bill Weasley. The air was almost stifling with the thick amount of lust emanating from that gruff, scrubby, unkempt man. Fleur could not be any gladder to leave the room and escape from Bill's presence.

However, it was not until she was halfway up did she realized that she could not return to her room. Facing the gloomy wooden door, Fleur just stood at the landing, with an annoyed scowl invading her pristine features.

Hermione was still in there.

After a minute of silent contemplation, Fleur bit back a sigh, and moved passed the girls' room, having decided not to enter and give the younger woman space. But no, don't get her wrong. Fleur was not trying to be considerate to Hermione; why should she?

The Frenchwoman just wanted to be alone.

Even if she had chosen to enter, she would not have known what to say to the brunette either; and thus, she chose to avoid awkward situations. Fleur rather not waste her energy and time on a hostile girl. Why put yourself in a situation where you would not be appreciated? Although Hermione was anything but hostile the last she saw her; which was not more than two hours ago.

Taking another flight of stairs up to the next level, Fleur retreated into the unused drawing room. A dry, musty smell enveloped her in an undesired welcome when she push the heavy, polished mahogany door open; it looked like Molly Weasley's cleaning troops have not tackled that room yet.

Nevertheless, Fleur still slipped in; despite her disgust at the smell and cleanliness (or lack of) of the room; it was the only place left where she could go without being bothered. Seeing that the Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix was specially enchanted so that it could not be seen by outsiders or Muggles, they were forbidden to step even a single foot out of the front door unless they were on their way to take over shifts or returning from them.

Security was a serious issue; something that could not be compromised in the dangerous times.

Which means that Fleur, and the other underage teenagers (Fleur scoffed), were cooped in the house unless under special circumstances.

And Fleur found the system quite ludicrous. She could not understand why she had to stay in despite the fact that she was _of age. _Fleur did not take bring treated like a child too kindly. But then again, there wasn't anything she could do about it; she could not defy Dumbledore's orders.

It was pretty understood though; times were not the same. Lord Voldemort has returned and risen, and Death Eaters' activities were steadily on the rise too. Though the (dense) Ministry of Magic and its minister refused to believe in Harry Potter's, and even Dumbledore's words, there were still some who held strong faith in the Headmaster of Hogwarts. Dumbledore agreed that Voldemort was back?

Then Voldemort must be really back.

And of course, Fleur believed in their words. This was why she was there, a part of the Order. She remembered the events of the Triwizard Tournament vividly, especially the third and last task. A part of Fleur felt ashamed for not completing that task, but it was not her fault that she was attacked. Still, it was quite a blow to her pride and reputation; after all, she was indeed the best student that Beauxbatons had ever seen. She was Madame Maxime's prized pupil.

And?

Being knocked unconscious in the middle of that task was not something that she could accept easily.

After being rescued (quite unglamorously) from the maze, she had sat and waited anxiously for the winner to emerge. She was rather upset about her elimination, but once again, she hid her feelings behind her mask of cool aloofness. Gabrielle knew; of course she knew, but she did not say anything. And Fleur was thankful for that. Her parents offered a few words of consolation and several assuring pats, but Fleur brushed it all off with brief, stiff nods of her head. She did not want to be reminded of the fact; and the proud woman pushed the thoughts of her failure to the very back of her mind, choosing to focus on the remaining champions in the maze to distract herself.

Viktor Krum emerged from the maze about ten minutes after her, looking disoriented and confused. He ignored the questioning eye that Fleur gave him, and refused to let the matron take a look at him for injuries. He sank into the bench a few feet away from the Delacours, and slouched forward, holding his head in his hands. Fleur glanced at his defeated figure, then back to the ominous-looking maze extending out before her. The towering hedges seemed to reach up to the skies, worshipping it with dark reverence.

Four champions.

Two down.

The cold wind of the night licked at exposed skins, and there were occasional ripples of shiver in the silent crowd. Thousands of eyes were fixed on the expanse of vegetation; and every now and then, a look of uncertainty was exchanged.

Time seemed to be teasing the crowd too, crawling along at the speed of a snail. All was eerily calm, save for the occasional rustle of robes of the patrolling teachers at the borders of the huge maze. Like so many others, Fleur was anxious to know the outcome of the third task.

But the outcome was nothing she, nor any others, had expected.

The crowd roused in a frenzied applause when two bodies suddenly appeared a few feet above the ground and slammed into it. A golden, muddied cup was lying ominously a distance away from the two grimy forms flumped on the grass. The tournament was over. But amidst the chorus of excited yells and whoops, Fleur knew that something was not right. A mask was discarded, forgotten. A piercing scream ripped through the skies, a scream that Fleur had later realized, came from her very self.

Cedric was dead.

The horrific scene was painfully etched into her head. She had thought that the Tournament was going to be free of deaths, seeing that the Ministry had set such strict rules and regulations before allowing it to be continued. It scared her to see Harry Potter, disheveled and defeated, and the pale, lifeless body of Cedric Diggory.

Because the entire, horrific picture could only mean one thing.

Lord Voldemort was back.

Fleur moved away from the doorway, unaware that she had been standing in it for a good few minutes while she recalled the horrible chain of events. Each of the champions was affected by the death of Cedric Diggory, no doubt about it. And Fleur knew that what she was feeling was insignificant in comparison to what Potter would have felt and went through.

Potter…Fleur wondered how the boy was doing. They had not conversed ever since the end of the third task, and merely exchanged a few words of farewell when the three schools parted ways. She felt a slight hint of pity for him, for having to cope with so much at such a young age.

Moving warily through the room, Fleur took care not to touch anything, knowing full well that the things in the House of Black were all far from being innocent. She spent her time scrutinizing the faded tapestry, examining the several burnt spots in it. It seemed to be of the Black ancestry; the burnt holes were probably those who were dishonored and disowned. Yes, it seemed to be so; Regulus Black's name was up there, and Sirius Black, Sirius was a hole next to his brother.

Fleur moved on to view the objects in the old display case through its grime-coated glass, not without difficulty. The blonde did not go near the buzzing curtains though, but eyed it with suspicion and disgust. Until Molly Weasley peeped in through the door that she had conveniently left open, to tell her that dinner was ready.

Fleur entered the dining room, and a frown came onto her face when she took in the seating arrangement. Aside from Arthur and Molly Weasley's usual seat, there remained only one other empty seat between Hermione and Bill. Ronald was sulking away on the other side of Bill, while Hermione ignored him totally, seeming to be more engrossed in the silver cutlery marked with a faded crest. Bill looked up when Fleur entered the room, and a wide smile appeared on his face when he sensed the part-Veela's presence. Or thrall, to be more exact.

Hermione knew that Fleur had just floated into the room with perfect grace, and wasted no effort in ignoring the gorgeous blonde as she took her seat beside her. She thought that she heard Ginny muttered "Phlegm" under her breath beside her, but Hermione chose to ignore the younger girl's rude comment. Out of the corner of her eyes, Hermione noticed that Fleur looked anything but happy, her back poker-straight, so much so that it looked pretty uncomfortable. _Was it because she had to sit next to me? _Hermione was confused at the blonde's behavior. Just earlier on, she had thrown off her high-and-mighty front and apologized to her, and now, she was behaving so coldly that Hermione felt an involuntary shiver down her spine.

A beaming Molly Weasley re-entered the dining room, levitating floating dishes of delicious-smelling delicacies in front of her, still oblivious to the tension between the different parties in the room. Fred and George were busy having a fake sword fight with the trick wands they invented underneath the table, while Bill was still staring at Fleur with a faint smile on his face. Ron barely looked up as the smell of his mother's cooking wafted passed, which was unusual.

It was then Molly Weasley noticed the difference in the seating arrangement; usually, her son Ronald would automatically plop himself next to Hermione, and Bill would usually choose a seat next to his father. She set the dishes down onto the table, and sat herself down, scanning the table thoughtfully just as Arthur Weasley entered with the remaining dishes.

"Fred, George, stop fooling around with those ridiculous toys! How many times must I tell you to stop doing all the stupid things in the dining room?!

"Sorry Mum!" The twins chorused, though they looked far from being apologetic. They exchanged identical grins and shoved the wands into their pockets.

The short, plump matron made sure that the rubber wands were safely stowed out of her sight before giving her husband a nod of thanks. Arthur Weasley beamed and settled down.

"Where's Sirius?" One of the twins chirped.

"He's upstairs with Buckbeak. He asked us to go ahead without him; said he doesn't feel like eating." Molly replied with slight annoyance. She never liked the bird/horse, and always made sure that Sirius keeps his pet in one of the abandoned rooms at the topmost level. Of course, she never went up there if she could help it.

"All right children! Let's eat!"

Dinner was quite a quiet affair, though not with several secretive glances here and there. Also, there was the occasional chatter from Bill, who was trying to start an intelligent conversation at the table in his vain attempt to impress the stone-cold lady next to him. Fleur ignored him and tuned him out, choosing to focus on chewing her food slowly and swallowing. Hermione, too, remained in silent mode throughout the entire dinner, though allowing her eyes to dart over to Fleur's face once every few minutes.

"Pork chop, Fleur?"

"_Non, monsieur_, thank you."

"How' bt some gravy?"

"I am fine, it is all right."

Fleur's face was frozen into a stiff, stone sculpture when Hermione once again, allowed her eyes to drift over the perfect features. But then, Fleur turned her head away from Bill at the very moment and caught the brunette's eye.

Caught by surprise, the brunette immediately shifted her focus back to the pot of gravy in front of her. She had not expected Fleur to turn around, and mentally chided herself for glancing at the part-Veela in the first place.

Damn Veela and her damn thrall.

Fleur tilted her head ever-so slightly when she noticed Hermione looking at her, surprisingly without her signature glare that was reserved for her. She was rather amused when the brunette withdrew her gaze hastily, her face pink. _Ever so curious, Ms Nosy Granger._

The exchanges between Bill and Fleur were not unnoticed by the sharp matron of the Weasley household. The rest of the table, save for Hermione, remained oblivious to the tensions between the two. Fred and George were busy discussing beneath their breaths between bites about something regarding a joke shop, if Fleur did not hear wrongly. Ron was stuffing himself much more than usual, shoveling food into his wide cavern of a mouth as if there was no tomorrow. Fleur eyed the specks of food that had escaped onto the tablecloth around the redhead with undisguised disgust.

Molly Weasley hazarded a guess that there was something fishy going on. Bill was not usually that helpful or talkative during dinnertime; he would usually be concentrating hard on eating, especially after returning from a whole day of shifts.

And on Ron's side…the seating arrangements told her enough. It was obvious to her that something happened between her son and Hermione.

"I am done, may I be excused?"

Molly was slightly taken aback when the polite French-accented voice of Fleur Delacour interrupted her thoughts. She caught sight of Bill's face, which was sagging in blatant disappointment that he did not even bother to hide. Fleur, however, has an unreadable expression on her face.

"Of course you may, dear."

"Thank you. Then I shall excuse myself first."

Fleur rose from her seat smoothly, and Bill's eyes were fixated on her behind as she did so. Hermione stared up at Fleur with a frown, not even bothering to be discreet. The blonde was so stuck-up and rude to leave the table before the rest completed their first course. _And she had barely taken more than ten bites!_

If the Veela had saw the look the brunette was giving her, she gave no sign and ignored the look. Gathering up her dishes, she proceeded into the kitchen stiffly, aware of a pair of predatory eyes on her.

After the tap water ceased running, the blonde reappeared in the doorway leading off to the kitchen.

She gave Arthur and Molly a stiff nod and a slight smile, then headed out into the living room. She never spared a single glance for any of the others though. Hermione stared down at her plate, while Bill was busy trying to catch her eye. Fred and George were still stuck in their own little world, while Ronald was still stuffing himself endlessly. The next moment, swift, quick steps could be heard ascending the stairs, before ending with a sharp click of a door somewhere.

The rest proceed to finishing their dinner in an even quieter affair, with Bill looking rather upset and forlorn now that Fleur was gone from the table. Hermione kept her eyes to her own plate for the rest of the dinner, silently hoping that the awkward meal would end fast.

After Fred, George and Ginny were dragged into the kitchen to help with the cleaning up, Hermione scooted away from all the awkwardness and headed back up to her room. It was the first time that she had sat through such a tensed meal, and she was not at all unwilling to escape from it.

However, she still felt rather indignant that the Delacour woman did not respect the Weasley parents well enough to stay on to the end. Ginny had appeared a little too happy when the blonde left the table, but the red-head had been courteous enough to hold back her comments when she saw that Hermione was not in the mood to chat.

She pushed open her bedroom door, and was surprised to find a blonde-haired figure seated on a bed with her back to the door, apparently gazing out of the window into the grim night.

"Why did you leave so early?"

There was no movement from the figure, and Hermione was about to open her mouth to prod further when a quiet voice answered her.

"I was not feeling very well."

It was the truth; the blonde was not the least bit comfortable during dinner, not with a certain man next to her who was hawking her like a predator would a prey. She could not stand how Bill kept trying to get close to her, yet decided not to snap at him because of the presence of Arthur and Molly. After all, he was their son, and they are her seniors.

"What illness is so bad that you cannot wait for the rest to finish? It would barely take up ten minutes."

Hermione knew that Fleur was fine, _perfectly_ fine. She was not ill, that the brunette knew. The reason why Fleur left was because of Bill.

"He was bothering you, wasn't he?"

Hermione thought that the slender figure stiffened slightly after the words escaped from her mouth. She had hit the nail on the head.

"Why would he?"

Fleur's response was cold, nothing like what the brunette had expected. It burst her momentarily bubble that had formed when she thought she had finally rendered the blonde speechless. It seemed like the articulated Hermione Granger could never outtalk Fleur Delacour. She took two steps forward, closer to the woman.

"I saw."

A whip of silvery-blonde hair, and Fleur was up, facing the young brunette. Her eyes were black in the dim room, the only source of light being that from the corridor, let in by the opened door.

"I do not know what you are seeing, and you most certainly don't either." _Damn._

Hermione did not know what to say. The two held eye contact, neither willing to back down. Fleur, as a prideful person, of course would not; Hermione, being famously stubborn, would never too. Until, Molly Weasley came into the room with a cheerful smile on her face. "Fleur-"

"What's happening here?"

The plump witch took in the scene with some confusion. The offensive stance of both young women broke when bright light invaded the room as suddenly as Molly did. Both automatically brought their hands up to their faces to shield their eyes from the glare.

"Nothing."

Molly glanced at Fleur with a dubious look on her face.

"Yes, it was nothing, Mrs Weasley. We were just talking."

Molly turned to the younger girl, who flashed a small, assuring smile at her. Then, she turned back to look at the older one, who acknowledged with a nod.

"All right, I am glad nothing's wrong. Oh, Fleur, can you come with me for a while please? I need a little help with something."

"_Oui_," Fleur did not even bothered to dip her head.

Molly exited with a small smile. Fleur strode to the door, briefly stopping next to the brunette, who remained silent. The brunette glared back, but Fleur merely reciprocate with an impassive look at the girl out of the corner of her eye, before striding out, leaving Hermione standing alone in the room.

And the room was left dark and cold.


	4. A for Awkward

__

A.N: Long awaited chapter! Told you guys updates will not be far off, right? Haha. I hope you guys will like this chapter as much as I did, especially the tension =P Roars. Promotional exams results are going to be released tomorrow. Nervous.

Anyway, thanks for all the reviews! Keep them coming!!!

To all reviewers: A great big Thank You! Please keep the reviews coming!

**Chapter 4- A for Awkward**

Trudging downstairs behind the short and plump Molly, Fleur could just guess what the lady would talk to her about.

Bill Weasley.

Fleur usually enjoys lounging in the living room with a magazine, making full use of the time without Bill stalking her around. Thankfully, he was given more shifts in the Order's secretive work (at where; Fleur has no idea), acting as guards (over what; Fleur did not really care much). Manpower was limited (a benefit in itself), seeing that it was around the period of the full moon and Remus was lying down low until after the moon wane.

And the blonde's patience was waning too.

Bill was becoming increasingly annoying in the little time he was able to spend in the Grimmauld Place; he practically followed Fleur around and stuck to her everywhere she went. And what irked her even more, was that Molly Weasley knew and did not do anything about it. It was almost as if she encourages it!

Ah, but she did encouraged it. To a certain someone's obvious displeasure and of course, disgust.

Fleur was right; Molly wanted to have a _chat _about Fleur's love life.

Molly barely tried to hide how much she want them to get together during her chat with Fleur; well, either she had really wanted to irked the blonde, or she has zero knowledge about the act of subtlety. She kept dropping hints of Bill's infatuation with Fleur, and kept probing Fleur to find out whether she has "a special someone" in her life.

And as though all that nonsense was not enough, Hermione just had to walk in at that moment when Fleur was cornered. Right next to the hand-scrubbed oven stove. Fleur grimaced; it was the worse situation in which the blonde want the brunette to find her in. Fleur was used to being the assertive and dominating one, not the cornered, meek and vulnerable. Imagine her horror when the brunette entered the kitchen at that time.

"Just getting a drink," an almost incoherent mumble came from the brunette, who pretended not to have noticed anything. Fleur kept a straight face, determined not to let any weakness show, or anything that could make her seem like a laughingstock to the younger woman.

Molly looked slightly flustered after being cut mid-sentence by the appearance of the brunette. The disoriented woman brushed her apron awkwardly and wrung her hands, turning her back to Fleur as she faced Hermione. Fleur, with her head cocked slightly to the right, was still pressed up against the oven stove much to her discomfort. She shot a look of annoyance down at Molly's turned back, unable to free herself, for the older woman had effectively trapped her with her…size.

"Hi, dear. Do you want me to make you some coffee or anything?" Fleur scoffed silently as the matron motioned to the teapot. Hermione's eyes darted towards Fleur, but flitted away quickly when Fleur caught her eye.

"Um no…no thanks Mrs Weasley." Hermione left the kitchen rapidly without another glance at either of the women.

Molly glanced sympathetically after Hermione.

"What's with the children nowadays? First they were getting along fine, and the next moment they were at loggerheads…"

Now she wants to match-make her youngest son with Granger?

Fleur rolled her eyes. Subtlety, Molly; subtlety. She was thankful when the matron took a step away from her, and adjusted her position so that she was not pressed painfully against the edge of the oven stove that felt too slick to be clean. More like greasy. Hand-scrubbed. Fleur thought of taking another bath after she shake Molly off; she did not trust the cleanliness of the hand-scrubbed stove. Magic was still her preferred cup of tea.

"Oh, sorry my dear, where was I?"

In the kitchen? Fleur was trying hard not to roll her eyes. "It's all right, Molly-"

"Ah yes! Don't you think Bill always look so tired whenever he's here? He's taking on too much; I have been telling him that countless of times but he never is so much like Arthur; passionate in whatever he does."

_Too passionate, I would think._ At least; too much for Fleur's liking.

"I'm sure, Molly."

"Yes," the woman replied with a motherly smile. "Oh, and erm…Fleur dear, do you, by any chance, have any idea what went wrong between Ronald and Hermione? They seemed to be rather…" She paused for a moment, then added on wistfully, "…distant these days."

…

Hermione was starting to feel the frustration and anger building up. Everything seemed to be going haywire, and everyone seemed to be against her. Ronald was being the Ultimate Prat. Obviously, he still had not gotten over that bicker with her earlier on.

And Ginny too, learnt to stay away from Hermione after seeing how moody the brunette was during dinner. Leaving Hermione alone in the dimly lit room, with only her books for company.

At least she does not feel awkward around books; unlike how she feel when she was around Fleur. There was something about the Veela that made Hermione…un-Hermione whenever she was near. But she could not pinpoint the reason why.

Like earlier on, in the kitchen. A totally awkward scenario.

Hermione was too deep in thought about the earlier bicker/argument with Fleur when she went downstairs to fetch a drink for herself, that she did not even realize that Fleur and Molly were in the kitchen, talking about…Bill? It was only until she entered did her mind fully register their presence. She contemplated leaving, but the two have already spotted her.

She felt the burning gaze of deep blue orbs on her, as well as the warm, brown ones of Molly Weasley. There was something about Fleur's stare that made Hermione feel…strange. No other word to describe the feeling, just…strange. She chanced a glance, but turned away immediately as the Veela's intense gaze met her own, uncertain one.

Probably just the Veela thrall (Hermione hoped).

She took a small sip of the water thoughtfully as she maneuvered her way back up the stairs; it was cold.

And before she knew it, she collided into something.

"Ah! I'm sorry!"

"Watch where you're going man! Damnit! Now look at what you've done you…oh-" Ronald peeled his wet shirt away from his chest and looked up angrily, only to come to the realization that Hermione was the one he had collided into.

"Um, oh." Ron started rather lamely, unsure of what to say.

Awkward situations; it seemed like a cursed day for the brunette. A pregnant silence filled the staircase landing; Hermione directed her gaze to the notch in the door to the right, anywhere but into the eyes of the Weasley. But before long, the silence got on her nerves.

"This is ridiculous." Mumbling, the girl tried to move past the redhead and continue her way upstairs.

But a tug at her sleeve held her back. Ronald had turned around and his mouth was half-opened, as though he had something to say.

His hand dropped to his side when he saw the brunette's glare. Brown curls whipped around and grazed past his face as Hermione made to continue her uninterrupted way back up to her room.

"Um…wait, Hermione, will you?"

Ron's shaky voice grew stronger as the girl stopped in her tracks.

"I'm sorry for being such a prat."

"I'm glad that you had realized."

He fell silent, unsure of what to say. A few fleeting seconds passed.

"Why are you so concerned about her? You never were."

A sharp intake of breath was heard, and that did not go unnoticed by the redhead. Hermione's grip tightened around the cup.

"Am I? Whatever makes you think that I am concerned about that part-Veela?"

"Your reaction." Hermione was surprised, but angered. But before she could say anything in her own defense, Ronald cut in.

"Don't even try to deny it. I saw you looking at her during mealtimes; and not to mention the fact that you always seem to get very worked up every time she is present."

Back still facing the boy, whose face was well-hidden in the shadows of the landing, the brunette replied in a sharp spat. "Why would I be concern for that unfeeling, snobby French woman? And who gave you the permission to probe into my affairs-" A slip of mouth. But Hermione managed to regain herself and continued. "Mind your own business, Ronald Weasley."

This time round, the girl marched up the stairs without any interruptions, silently berating herself for her bad choice of words. Ronald was very much annoyed with the brunette's mood swings, and slammed his door angrily.

Below, a figure stood in the shadows silently, watching the dismissal of the two.

...

After shaking off a persistent Molly (with quite some difficulty) and promising (rather reluctantly) that she would have a talk with Hermione to find out what went wrong, Fleur strutted out of the dingy kitchen into the...also dingy-lit living room. Turning towards the stairs, Fleur was about to return upstairs. Until…

"Fleur?"

A figure rose from the armchair, initially hidden by its high, cushy back. Fleur's mouth fell open in surprise.

"Harry, bonjour! When did you arrive?!"

"A few moments ago. Tonks dropped me off at the door and headed off; she said she was involved in some shift. Then I realized that you people are…um…busy talking, so I plopped myself here."

"Oh, my apologies. You can go to the kitchen now; I am sure that Molly would be please to see that you have arrived. Meanwhile, please excuse me," Fleur gave him a small smile, and motioned towards the stairs.

"Oh, uh…I wouldn't go up there if I were you. Um…Hermione and Ron were having some quarrel upstairs just a few minutes ago; that was why I did not head upstairs." Harry gave an awkward, lopsided twitch of his mouth, eyes darting surreptitiously towards the stairs.

But Fleur was not any deterred by that. All the better. Perhaps she could have the talk with Hermione right then and get it over and done with.

Marching right up to the bedroom, Fleur rapped smartly on the door. A muffled "come in" was heard. Fleur thought she caught some indistinct sniffles along with the words too, but still went in without any hesitation.

The figure on the bed tilted her head towards the newcomer, and her teary eyes widened in disbelief. "Since when did you start knocking before you enter?" Hiccough. "Didn't you say it was your room too?"

Fleur smirked slightly, but tried hard to hide it and to keep a straight face. "Since when have you become so concern for me that you stand up for me to that Ronald Weasley?"

Brown orbs widened further, and the brunette quickly threw her head down. "Don't be so full of yourself." Even with the harsh retort, Hermione could not keep the firmness in her tone, and neither could she stop the redness from coming on to her cheeks. Fleur, with her well-trained eyes, of course did not fail to notice the blush.

Truth be told, Fleur found it cute that Hermione could get embarrassed so easily. Wait a minute, now where had that come from? The blonde shoved the thought to the back of her head, frowning.

"I only came up to see how you were. Harry said that you were quarrelling with that...boy," Fleur spat out the word, "…a moment ago."

Hermione was slightly taken aback by Fleur's disgust in her tone when she referred to Ron, but she was not very much surprised. She knew all along that Fleur never really liked Ronald because of his intrusive acts, and she knew that Fleur never really felt comfortable around him. She probably felt like how I am feeling right now. But she could not help feeling vulnerable being in the same room with the part-Veela. She did not need the Frenchwoman to know that she was doing all these because of genuine concern. She would no doubt have a good laugh about it if she find out-

"Wait a minute, did you say 'Harry'?"

"_Oui, _I believe I did a minute ago. He has arrived."

"Ah! Why didn't he came up?" For a moment, Hermione forgot that Fleur was still in the room, until she answered.

"Because you were busy shouting at _Ronald."_

Hermione nodded absent-mindedly and then realized what she was doing and scowled. Before she could say anything, Fleur (knowing only too well that the brunette was about to make some harsh remark) cut in.

"Are you all right?

"I'm fine; why don't you mind your own business?"

"You can mind my business but I can't mind yours? That is, how do you British say… not fair, _oui_?" Fleur took the other's silence as acknowledgement, and continued in that smooth, calming melody of hers that Hermione so hate. "I will not lie. I am here because Molly wants me to talk to you and find out what had gone wrong between you and…that boy."

"You don't like him."

"Oui; Of course I don't."

"You already know why we quarreled."

Fleur pursed her lips with subtle sexiness and Hermione, try as she did, could not pull her eyes away from the lips of Fleur Delacour. Of course she knew. But for what reason(s)?

Curses.

The blonde slid closer to the bed, and the brunette's breath caught in her throat-

- the same moment the bed was depressed from the weight of the slim, slender body that was Fleur.

It looked like Fleur Delacour was really serious about that talk. But deep inside Hermione, she secretly wished that the topic of conversation was not about her and that boy.

And Fleur Delacour? Maybe she was not as snobbish, unfeeling and insensitive a person as the brunette had thought. A quick glance up; Fleur smirked.

All right. Maybe not.

**

A few days passed after the little argument and The Talk in the room. It seemed to Fleur that the bookworm really did know one or two things about romance; Hermione was a much more intuitive and observant girl (_um…or woman)_ than what the blonde had given her credit for.

In the past few days that had came and trickled away, everything was just like how they were before the two started to be more _bothered_ with the other. Or perhaps, it would be more accurate to say _before their paths crossed._ It was not like Fleur really did bothered herself about Hermione though; Hermione was the one who was taking the lead in their little game.

Or could it even be considered a game?

Well, whatever it was, Fleur was…well, _Fleur. _She could not care less; Fleur Delacour was never one who makes the first move. She had never needed to, not in her entire life. The ball would always come to her naturally; she never had to go for it, and she never did. Why should she? There were much better things to do…

Hermione sighed, and rolled over on her bed. Everything was so confusing; her mind, her thoughts, her actions...everything about _her. _Enigmatic Fleur Delacour. She so obviously disliked Ronald, and she did not deny that. But why did she encourage Hermione to..._"get back together with _that boy"? It was not as if they were _together _in the first place. _Thank goodness no. _Hermione liked Ronald, yes; but only as a brother, just like how she had regarded Harry.

But for Fleur...who was she to Hermione? They were not too close to be friends, but neither too distant to be mere acquaintances.

Confusing, confusing.


	5. Touches and Tears

_A.N: Sorry for being stagnant for so long! It's my final year in junior college, so I will be extremely busy this year preparing for my A'levels, in which I will do very well! I am determined. :D So, I ask for your forgiveness if my updates are sporadic and taking very long. -bows deeply- Please continue to support! Thank you!_

**Touches and Tears**

30th November, 2009

A pivot about the heel of a boot and a swish of the weathered travelling cloak; Fleur Delacour magically appeared on the doorstep of Grimmauld Place, throwing her long sheet of silvery-blonde hair to the back of her right shoulder. Glancing at the heavy door, she exhaled with a huff.

Entering the house, she swung her cloak off her shoulders and placed it on the coat rack, only to realize that Bill Weasley's tattered cloak was there too. It was definitely not a surprise that Fleur looked forward to. A chorus of noises issued from the dining room; they must have just started dinner. Perhaps it would not be too difficult for her to sneak upstairs to the room-

"Ah Fleur, there you are! We are just about to start dinner; come, take a seat!"

-which happened to be easier said than done. The door to the dining room was conveniently left open, and Mrs Weasley's exclamation left Fleur standing in the doorway with about a dozen pairs of eyes fixated on her. Not the attention she wanted.

Fleur barely smiled, raising a neatly-sculpted eyebrow at Molly. She did not trust Molly, who was looking too…cheerful and happy to be sincere at that moment. Fleur knew that it wasn't very nice to doubt people's intentions, but she had met so many who flashed false smiles and faked friendliness that it has become a norm for her to do so. Better be safe than to be sorry, as the Muggle saying goes.

And her guard, even though it did nothing for her, was not entirely for naught, she later came to realize as she stepped into the dining room. Molly Weasley eagerly led her to the empty seat next to Bill by her plump hands, despite the fact that there was one just right next to George, nearest to where Fleur was standing in the doorway. Bill's excited face didn't help matters at all. He shot the lady a beaming smile when she settled herself down. Fleur reciprocated with a small nod and eyed his fanged earrings with distaste before looking back to the front, determined to ignore the man beside her.

And upon doing so, she found herself looking straight into warm, ocher eyes. Hermione's. The girl, upon realizing that Fleur's eyes were on her, averted her gaze straight away. What surprised Fleur was how the brunette was steadily growing redder under her gaze. And for the first time in days, there wasn't a frown on her face. There wasn't any emotion on her face at all, Fleur noted, but it was a start. At least the brunette wasn't glaring at her anymore. Perhaps the little talk they had a couple of days ago helped in easing Hermione's dislike towards her. Of course, Fleur did not know for sure; they barely even met face-to-face after the talk; in fact, Fleur did not see her much in the past few days at all. There was a likelihood that the brunette was trying to avoid her. But for what reason?

It could not be that talk; no, it couldn't be.

Or could it?

The clatter of a plate on the table brought Fleur back to reality, just in time to see Molly and her motherly smile before she moved away. Hermione continued to stare at the corner of the room, refusing to meet the blonde's eyes.

"Fleur?"

"Bill."

"Is there something wrong?" Fleur rolled her eyes and laughed lightly. That Bill Weasley could get really annoying at times.

"Nothing's wrong; I'm just thinking."

"You looked troubled." He noted the light creases on her forehead with one of his own. "I can help, if you are willing to let me in."

Fleur threw her head the opposite direction from Bill, smiling sympathetically. It seemed that Bill would never understand. And she herself noted something that she could not understand too.

Hermione Granger was glaring at the irksome man next to her with apparent dislike, completely oblivious to the fact that Fleur's eyes were on her. Bill missed Hermione's glare too, with his own eyes busy, fixated upon his blonde goddess. Though said blonde's body language showed that she was obviously not keen on becoming his goddess.

The image of the trio was almost hilarious, if Molly Weasley didn't interrupt at that moment with her broad smile upon her equally broad face.

"Let's dine!"

A corner of Hermione's mouth twitched in disgust as Ronald immediately launch his attack on the dishes right beside her, an action that did not went unnoticed by Fleur. Fleur noted that Hermione had taken her advice (whether reluctantly or not was unclear) and patched things up with the youngest redheaded male of the Weasley clan. Yes, Ronald was looking much less grouchy and grumpy, if not high-spirited, that day as compared to the previous few days.

Hermione though, did not look any different, if not worse. Fleur glanced thoughtfully at the brunette as she chewed slowly on a particularly tough piece of meat. She was interested in figuring out what was wrong with the brunette. Perhaps another small talk? Or maybe not. After all, it wasn't as though Hermione's matters actually concerned her.

Hermione herself was hunched over her plate with her head down, intent on cutting up her own serving of meat, but she could not shake off the uneasy feeling that she was being watched. Through the few wispy strands of her brown fringes, she frowned at the lack of movement from the blonde who was sitting directly opposite her. Hermione looked up cautiously, only to be taken aback by what she saw. Fleur Delacour was looking at her (or not) thoughtfully, icy-blue eyes clouded over slightly.

Her rational side told her to withdraw her gaze and focus on her food, but her impulsive side told her that all was fine. Fleur was looking at her, but not _seeing. _Hermione had to admit that it was rather freaky, but not discomforting. Something in the blonde's soft gaze pulled her in.

After about a minute or two, Hermione finally became aware of her own blatant staring and hastily withdrew her gaze. Fleur though, remained immovable, much to Bill's concern; his worried eyes never once strayed from her face, which was why he was blissfully unaware of the eye-lock between the two females.

The rest of the dinner was a quiet affair.

After dinner, Hermione returned upstairs swiftly, not being in the mood for any conversation at all. She hurried past the row of elf heads mounted on the wall, determined not to _see _the gruesome and horrendous sight. Just as she was about to complete her safe retreat into the room and close the door behind her, a force stopped her from doing so.

Annoyed, she turned to confront, only to find a Ginny with a resolved look on her face.

"We need to talk."

The look on Ginny's face told Hermione enough. The red-head is one stubborn girl; which was not all that surprising seeing that she grew up with a hoard of brothers. It was never an option to try and worm out of anything that the girl wanted to do. And Hermione knew that well enough.

The brunette let out a sigh and held the door open for the younger girl, who entered with a muttered 'thanks'. She closed the door behind her, this time with nothing stopping her from doing so; and locked it.

"So."

"Yea?"

Ginny was looking at her intently as she walked over to the bed and sank down onto it next to her. Hermione picked up a bolster and fiddled with the bolster cover, choosing not to return the gaze.

"What do you want to talk about?"

"What's up between you and Phlegm?"

"Don't call her that."

"Why? Since when did you care so much about what I say about her? You were the one who were always shooting glares at her. I bet you hate her more than I do. Phlegm and her _oh-so-perfect everything_."

"Stop it."

The younger girl narrowed her eyes at the brunette who was determined to not look at her.

"What's your problem, Granger? Why are you so protective of her? Did she put you under the Imperius curse or what?"

"Go away Gin."

The red-head threw a furious and incredulous look at the older girl, refusing to believe what she heard.

"Hell, I'm here trying to talk to you, figure out what's wrong with you, and all you've been doing is to go all ballistic over me_. _I thought your problem was her, not me? Well; damn! Check again; it's her you were shooting glares at for the past few days, not me!" She paused and took a deep breath, her chest heaving from anger.

"Past few days, you've been a Snitch. You know that? Evasive! Ron's all bad-tempered and stuff around you and you were just plainly _ignoring _him. I don't know what happened between the two of you and I don't care to know _either."_

"Of course you wouldn't. You were barely around."

"Around you; yes! Just in case it escaped your brilliant mind; _Ms Granger, _you've been real exciting company the past few days, y'know? If I ever want a dampener on my spirits, I would be sure to look for you."

Hermione raised her head, her eyes hard. The other girl had jumped up from her seat on the bed and was staring defiantly at her, nostrils flaring in a fiery anger. Throwing aside the bolster, Hermione let out a huffed of exasperation and looked away.

"Look Ginny, can we not talk now?"

"I don't see why we can't talk. Right. Now. You know as well as I do that we need to straighten some things out."

Hermione knew very well that there was no longer any way she could avoid the topic. Hell, she was confused too. A part of her wanted to have nothing to do with that topic and to bury it deep within her mind, but another part of her, _deep down, _was struggling to face it. However much she tried to suppress it. She nodded.

Ginny took her acknowledgement and sat back down. Hermione dropped her head and waited for the deluge of questions from the younger girl that she presumed was about to come. But when nothing came from Ginny, she took a look in confusion. It turned out that Ginny was actually tactfully waiting for her to speak first.

"I figured that it's better to let you go first."

Hermione gave a small smile. "Seems like you're much more tactful than your brother."

Ginny shrugged and laugh. "And much more observant too, let's not forget that."

At her reply, the other girl fell silent. Shadows shielded her face as she stared at the ground, letting her frown go unnoticed by the younger girl. But the younger girl kept her silence; knowing full well that it would be best to let the brunette have her own space and time.

It was a couple of minutes later before the girl opened her mouth to speak. It was a hesitant, tentative action. She closed her mouth again, deciding otherwise; obviously feeling conflicted. Her friend made no sign of moving, probing or leaving though. Taking a tentative and slightly wary glance through her fringes at Ginny, Hermione caught an encouraging smile on the red-head's face. That pretty much told her what she should do. She took a deep, long breath.

"I…like Fleur."

Ginny's face was surprisingly expressionless. Hermione let out a shaky breath and looked down at her clenching hands, finding it hard to bring herself to look at her best friend. It is never an easy thing to tell someone about your liking another person; not to mention that it is even harder to say when the person you like is of the same gender.

"Um…Gin?"

A shadow fell over Ginny's eyes. Hermione was feeling uneasy, no, she was _utterly terrified _inside. Yes, she had crushes on girls before, but this was the first time that she actually told someone about it. And that someone's reaction was seriously worrying her.

Ginny finally opened her mouth to reply. Her voice, however, came out low and soft. "You like…girls?"

" I- yes…no. I don't know." Hermione lowered her head into her hands, gripping her hair with her fingers in exasperation. "I really don't know. It's just…It's Fleur."

Ginny looked on with a disbelieving look on her face.

"Yo-you _like _Phle- _Fleur_."

The brunette barely nodded in response.

A whole wave of emotions was flowing through Ginny. She could not bring herself to believe what Hermione just said; what her friend of _four _years just said. She did not know whether to feel betrayed by the fact that Hermione had kept her sexuality hidden from her for the past four years; or to feel angered that it was Fleur whom she actually liked. Fleur. _Fleur Delacour, t_he arrogant, snobbish and rude bimbo who always seem to have guys wrapped around her little finger and fawning after her. She stood up.

The sudden absence of Ginny's weight from the bed shook Hermione from her little emotional battle. She looked up, barely just in time to see Ginny's darkened face before she whip around and leave the room within seconds, not even bothering to close the door behind her. The sound of fast footsteps heading down the rickety wooden staircase slowly fades away, leaving Hermione in complete silence.

Hermione could not stop the tears from flowing and chose to stop fighting them back. She had been fighting with her own inner demons for so long, and now that she finally accepted herself and wanted to share her problems with someone who would listen, this had to happen. Not only did she get knocked back onto square one, she could not help thinking that she made matters much worse. All the emotions that have been taking a toll on her are fighting for release. Curling up against the headboard, she clutched her knees close to her chest and poured all her emotions out together with her silent tears.

However, it was not long before she was interrupted with a tentative, gentle knock on the half-opened door.

"May I come in?"

The voice of Fleur Delacour jolted Hermione out of her shaky emotional state. The girl hastily wiped at her tears, turning her face away from the door before letting out a choked "yes".

Fleur silently walked towards the bed as Hermione shifted uneasily on the covers, back facing her. She was now trying to discreetly wipe off the tears with her blanket.

"What's the matter? That girl Ginny just bumped into me while she was charging down the stairs. Almost knock me down."

A sniffle. "It was nothing…We were just…talking."

Fleur raised an eyebrow dubiously.

"You were not talking to her like this, were you_?"_

"…no, I wasn't."

"Then why are you talking to me with your back facing me?"

"…"

Biting her lip, the younger girl haphazardly mopped up her face best as she could before shifting herself so that her right side was to Fleur. Her face, however, was turned away from the blonde goddess.

Fleur pursed her lips. She knew that the girl was crying; of course she knew. Fleur never cries if she could help it; she sees it as a show of weakness, and she refuses to present herself as a weak person. She is also not one who usually shows her concern to others so blatantly, being not used to the idea of being so _nice_, but a nagging voice in her head told her to comfort the younger girl in front of her.

Lifting a steady hand, Fleur slowly touched Hermione's chin unsurely at first. Gaining some relief from the fact that the girl did not jerk away, Fleur gently lifted her head so that Hermione has her face towards hers. Hermione sniffled quietly, averting her eyes away from Fleur's, yet still making no attempt to brush Fleur away.

Thumbs caressed tear-stained cheeks. The feather-light touch sent involuntary shivers down the brunette's spine, causing her eyes to finally meet the blonde's. The tenderness within the deep blue ocean melted and burned her at the same time, and Hermione could feel her heart revel in contentment yet at the same time, ache with longing. The ache burned even stronger when the blonde pulled away, leaving Hermione's skin aching for the contact.

"I hope you two didn't have a fight."

"No…we didn't. It wasn't a fight…"

"Then?"

"It was…nothing."

"It didn't seem like nothing to me. I doubt anyone would cry over 'nothing'."

Fleur's hand moved to Hermione's knee and rested there; a move which she thought was assuring and encouraging. Hermione shook at the sudden contact and tensed up slightly. In this close proximity, she could almost taste Fleur's sweet scent through her salty tears. Fleur is…sweetly_ floral_, with a subtle musky undertone that Hermione never really registered before.

"Is it about relationships?"

Hermione's sudden reaction to the question was all that Fleur needed to know. It was just as she thought too.

"It is all right if you do not feel like sharing, _mon chere. _There's nothing much that I can say since I do not know what is going on, but I trust that you are more than capable of handling the matter on your own," Fleur pulled her lips into a smile. "Relationships are always tricky, but just go with your heart and do what you think is right. I'll not bother you now."

With one last small tap on Hermione's knee, Fleur left the room, leaving Hermione swimming in her own confused and tangled thoughts.


	6. Problems and Solutions

_A.N. Yes, I'm not ditching this story, don't worry. You must really thank Mishandled for getting me to kick myself to write again. =) I almost lost inspiration for this story -horrified look-  
__But please don't get mad at me if updates are really not coming; this is a major year for me, and I'm up to my...no...I'm totally drowning in schoolwork. I'll try, TRY to update as much as I can. _

_Sincerest apologies for taking so long. Hope you guys will enjoy this chapter. =)_

**Chapter 6: Problems and Solutions**

Two days.

It has been two days since Fleur came across a sobbing Hermione in the room.

And it has been two days- no, _more than that; _since Fleur last saw a smile on Hermione's face. A genuine smile.

She tried to ignore it; but she could not. She has no idea why the mood of the younger woman affected her so much. Yes, Veelas are intuitive, sensitive and emotional creatures. But that did not explain why Hermione's moods affected her _so very much._

Fleur could feel a strong sense of…_anger. _Towards whom, however, was something she could not put a finger upon. She just knew that there was just something that makes her burn in fury. It burned especially so whenever she run into Hermione ever so occasionally around the house. All right, _slash that. _She has only seen Hermione _once, up close, _after her breakdown. And no, it was not Hermione whom she was angry at. She was angry for the younger woman.

It was as though Fleur was a channel for the unspoken emotions that the brunette was feeling. Maybe the brunette was not exactly _angry_, but she was definitely upset. And although Fleur did not know why she felt so, she knew that she hated to see Hermione moping around lifelessly. The brunette never really liked her, she knew that; but Fleur is not such a begrudging person. Neither is she as insensitive as she seems to be.

Or perhaps; as she _appears._

Gabrielle did mention to her before that she looked unapproachable. And she still _looks_ so. Many could vouch for that.

Her face was, as how her beloved sister put it, "by default; _cold."_

Fleur knew that too. But she could not help it. Or could she? She never had any real friends all along, save for Gabrielle. She never really dared to let others in to her life. She always felt safer to _not trust. _

Her grandmother often laments that it was their heritage that caused their family's reclusiveness.

Again; the curse.

Since young, they were taught to guard against people. It was not their choice. In fact, it never was a choice; it was a _must. _Their blood, their _thrall,_ attracts indiscriminately; no matter the good or the bad.

"_You should never be too trusting of people."_

Thus, it never hurts to throw caution to the wind. At the very least, people would think twice before approaching her. And it helps to hide her insecurities and fear too. Pretense is a magnificent tool. When utilized well_._

But recently, Fleur was starting to feel different.

But yet again; perhaps only in the presence of some.

More specifically; in the presence of one. Namely Hermione.

Fleur actually felt…comfortable in the younger woman's presence. She realized that the day when Hermione came up to the room after her; after dinner. There was just something about the younger woman that nudged the real 'Fleur Delacour' alive; the 'Fleur' that was hidden under the many layers of façade that built up over the years. The 'Fleur' that Fleur herself seemed to have never known. How was the brunette able to wield such power?

How did she even know the 'Fleur' that was a stranger, even to Fleur herself?

Hermione, for some unknown, mysterious, puzzling reason, understood Fleur more than Fleur gave her credit for.

And the blonde witch, now understanding to the fact, has no idea whether it was something to rejoice over or not.

Her _shields_ were in danger of breaking down.

But it was not something that was totally _unappealing; _to _finally _have someone she can truly let herself go with.

Someone unlike that annoying pest with the name of _Bill Weasley_.

"Come in."

The door groaned softly as it slowly swung open by inches to reveal the scruffy, unshaven face of Bill.

"Hi Bill. Looking for Ginny?"

"Hey Hermione. No; not really. I'm actually looking for eh, Fleur. Is she in?"

It was as if someone has just crushed her torso. Hermione felt as though her ribcage was constricting around her lungs.

"No," Hermione shot quite venomously (to her surprise).

"Oh," The disappointment hung heavily in his voice. "Do you know where she is?"

Raising her eyebrows, Hermione tried to suppress a smirk as she conjures up a story in her head.

"I think she mentioned something about getting books at Diagon; she was pretty bored."

"Oh, that's great!" Bill's eyes lit up, much to Hermione's annoyance. "Thanks Hermione!"

"You're-"

The door clicked shut.

"-_not_ welcome." The brunette muttered.

She went back to what she was doing before she was interrupted. Actually, she was not doing much. Her diary lay opened on the desk. Hermione took a deep breath to clear her head. The suffocating feeling in her chest was still there.

Although she did not fully understand how it came about, but she did know that the _cause _of it was Fleur. And the rumbling creature that rose in her when the Frenchwoman's name rolled off Bill's tongue?

Jealousy.

It was only after about fifteen minutes did Hermione finally got the feeling off her chest. It was starting to scare her; all those new, unknown emotions that she was experiencing. It was like exploring uncharted territories, with the fear of the unknown. What made it worse was that she has no one supporting her by her side. Ginny was just as evasive as she herself was for the past two days.

With a sigh, the brunette pushed herself up reluctantly from the chair. It was about four hours since she last had a drop of water. Hopefully, she would not run into anyone during her trip down and back up.

The journey down was quiet. In fact; the household was quiet. Only the continuous rumblings and clanking of the boilers in the kitchen could be heard. Everyone else was out; busy with their own agendas. Molly and Arthur Weasley had went on a school supplies shopping mission with the schooling teenagers in tow save for, quite obviously, Hermione. The brunette was deeply thankful that she had bought the required spellbooks and supplies before she arrived at Grimmauld Place. Her parents were quite adamant about not troubling the Weasleys any more than they felt they already have. Well, at least it saved her from having to face the rest for three long, torturous hours of shopping.

As for the rest, Hermione supposed that they are out on their secret shifts and such. There was a lot more work to be done for the members of the Order ever since Harry got attacked. It was a great relief and load off everyone's shoulders when the young man was cleared of all charges.

As she filled up the glass with water, she thoughtfully wondered on where Fleur could have been. She knew that Fleur did not join the shopping troops; _Fleur would not have wanted to, anyway_. But she has not seen Fleur at all since after breakfast in the morning, from which said blonde disappeared as fast as she could right after, much to a certain Weasley's disappointment.

"You are drowning the glass, Hermione."

Hermione was shaken out of her musing and turned around rapidly to come face to face with the owner of the lyrical voice. Fleur gave her a slight smile as she slip into the kitchen, after throwing a cautious glance backwards.

"Uh; hi."

"_Bonjour_ to you too. By the way, did you see that Bill anywhere?"

Water splashed out of the overfilled glass as Hermione tightened her grip so much that her hand shook. Fleur raised an eyebrow questioningly and silently appraised the water dripping down the brunette's hand. Hermione took a few discreet, calming breaths to keep her emotions in check.

"Why? Are you looking for him?"

"Not exactly." Fleur paused. This was exactly what she meant by feeling "comfortable" around the brunette. She could trust her. There was no need to hide anything from Hermione; in fact, she didn't want to conceal anything from the brunette. "More like, avoiding him."

Fleur carefully observed the change in the brunette's expression. Hermione's face seemed to relax considerably after hearing Fleur's reply. The younger woman calmly took a sip of water to calm her nerves further. Nothing could describe Hermione's relief when she heard the reply. "_Avoiding…" _It seemed like Bill stood no chance; confirming her earlier suspicions on Fleur not liking Bill. She breathed a silent sigh of thanks.

"You don't have to worry; I told him you went to Diagon Alley for books. And he fell for it. I suppose Mrs Weasley will keep him busy for a while there."

What came next surprised the brunette so much that she choked on another sip of water.

_Fleur laughed._

It was not the guffawing, roaring, Ronald-type of laughter. Neither was it the shrieking, high-pitch laughter of Lavender. It was lilting; a melodious chuckle. It was a perfect, yet at the same time _not-so-perfect-_kind of laughter.

It was genuine amusement. Hermione had never seen Fleur let herself go like_ that _before.

"_Mon dieu; _are you all right, Hermione?"

The laughing blonde stopped and moved worriedly to the side of a coughing Hermione. She took the glass from the brunette and began rubbing her hand along the brunette's back to ease the coughing fit. Hermione froze when she felt the older woman's hand on her back.

"Are you all right?"

"Um, yea; I am." Cough. "Uh, thanks."

Hermione's eyes were slightly teary from the violent coughing, her face red from _both _coughing _and _blushing too much. Her brain registered that the blonde's hand was still resting upon her back. Her _lower back. _Blood seemed to rush straight to the brunette's face.

"I'm glad you are fine now." Hermione protested inwardly when the other woman removed her hand from where it was. "And I cannot thank you enough for getting rid of that man. Even if it is just for a few hours."

"Uh, you are welcome."

The blonde flashed another smile that almost melted Hermione. The flustered brunette fumbled about cleaning up the mess she made earlier, making sure to keep her head lowered so that her mane of hair covers her face until the blush subsides. Fleur excused herself with another smile and headed back up to the shared room.

Hermione barely had time to regain her breath and her senses before she realized what Fleur said just three brief minutes ago. A sudden, frightening thought occurred to Hermione.

'_Room? Oh shit.'_

The girl hastily dashed back up to the room, hoping and praying that she was not too late. So frantic she was that she even forgot to knock.

So frantic she was that she ended up bursting in to a view of the bared back of Fleur Delacour.

A harsh intake of breath was heard, a breath that caught in Hermione's throat as the brunette turned a deep shade of crimson.

Fleur turned back in surprise, but she did not appear to be shocked by Hermione's sudden appearance. She calmly finished changing as Hermione stood there, rooted to the floor and unable to move or even speak. Fleur turned around after, and lightly chuckled at the priceless expression on the brunette's face.

"I'm sorry; I should have locked the door."

"No! Uh, that's not what I mea- I mean, you shouldn't be sorry. I should be sorry; I should have knocked before um…bursting in. I'm sorry-"

Fleur watched with a bemused expression as the brunette rambled on and try to regain her composure. Fleur was not expecting her eyes to shoot wide open all of a sudden and her darting right over to the study desk in a flash. Neither was she expecting the sudden slam of a book.

Hermione turned around sheepishly with a mouthed apology before stuffing the mysterious book into her bag.

The blonde raised an eyebrow.

"What was that? I am thinking that it is not homework."

Hermione silently thanked the gods above that Fleur did not read it.

"Um…it's nothing much." She waved a hand dismissively; though judging by the look on the other woman's face, she wasn't very much convincing. In her wild attempt to change the topic, Hermione randomly picked a line from her thoughts. "Uh, where were you just now?" She winced slightly at how dumb she sounded.

Thankfully, Fleur decided to tactfully put a rest to the matter.

"Up at the attic."

"What were you doing up there?"

"You know the answer to that," Fleur replied simply.

"Um…yea. It must have been suffocating."

"The attic; or the Weasley?"

"Uh…both?"

"_Oui. _To both; that is. He's…" Fleur pursed her lips. '_It's Hermione,' _her brain screamed out to her. "He's overly…_clingy. _Almost like a…"

"Stalker?" Hermione offered helpfully, before realizing what she had said. "Sorry," she clapped a hand to her mouth.

Fleur gave a slight smile; a pained one. "_Oui, _you are right, in a sense. It's all right."

Hermione could not help feeling a strong sense of dislike for the man. And her heart screamed sympathy for the blonde.

"Why didn't you just turn him down?"

"I did."

"Then?"

"He believes that he still stands a chance. The man believes that he can win me over." Fleur scoffed. "_One day._"

"The day will never come then, I suppose?" Hermione asked tentatively. The creature in her bristled and stood on the alert.

"_Non, _it will not. Not even in his…_wildest dreams."_

Hermione let out a breath that she didn't realized she was holding in relief. She didn't think that she would be able to stand the thought of the woman being with that crass and unkempt man. He would taint her.

Fleur sat herself down on the foot of Hermione's bed, seeing that it was the one closest to her. Hermione relinquished her death-hold on the side of the desk. She bustled around and pretended to be rearranging the scattered parchment, stray quills and ink bottles while Fleur observed her in silence.

"What about you and Ronald?"

Hermione jerked at the mention of Ron, accidentally upsetting an ink bottle. Thankfully, it was empty.

"There's nothing between me and him."

"The two of you patched up, I suppose?"

Hermione whirled around to face Fleur.

"There was nothing to be patched up in the first place."

Fleur frowned. "What do you mean? I thought you two were happy together?"

Hermione sighed. She set down whatever remained in her hands and tossed a few empty ink bottles into the bin. A few muffled clanks could be heard as the brunette walked over to the bed and sat herself down next to Fleur. She slouched down with her elbows on her knees; gazing straight at nothing in particular.

"As friends; yes. Nothing more."

"Why not?" Fleur mistook the disappointment in Hermione's tone as her wanting to have '_something more' _than just friendships with the boy. Which wasn't that surprising; since that was what the boy, _and his mother, _clearly wanted too.

"I see him as a brother. Nothing more. But I think he… He wants more than that."

Fleur took an appraising look at the troubled brunette. It seemed that her intuition was wrong then. Which was rather unexpected; she was _never _wrong when it comes to emotions. But there is always a first for everything.

"Then why do you look so upset for the past two days? He is not bothering you, is he? Or is it…that Ginny Weasley?"

"No, he is not. As for Ginny...partly."

"I don't mind offering a listening ear if you need it." Fleur shifted closer, angling her body such that she was facing the younger woman.

"It was nothing much really; it's just that…she didn't really agree with me on…_something_."

"Is that '_something' _related to your relationship with her brother?"

"No…" Hermione took a small sigh and glimpsed at the blonde discreetly out of the corner of her eye. There was a dull ache near the left side of her chest. Perhaps that was what _heartache _really meant. "But the issue is close to that."

Fleur frowned. "I don't understand."

Hermione sighed again. "It's all right; I don't expect you to. It's..._complicated. _And it's not-"

The door slammed open. Hermione leapt towards Fleur in shock at the sudden noise. Fleur, taken aback when the brunette lunged towards her, fell backwards onto the bed.

Bluish-green eyes widened in shock and disbelief. Bill gaped at the two women tangled together in bed.

"Wha- How-? Th-this is- this- since when?"

Hermione gave Fleur an apologetic look and was about to push herself off the blonde, when a sudden inspiration hit. She placed her hands daringly on the blonde's slender waist. Fleur too, wrapped her arms around the brunette's waist at the same time. It was as though the two woman shared a telepathic moment when their gaze met. Subtle nods and grins of understanding from both were exchanged.

Fleur smirked as she noticed Bill still shifting uncomfortably in the doorway.

"Haven't you seen enough, Bill?"

"Thi-this is why you re-rejected me, is it?"

Fleur looked at him sympathetically. Hermione took a glance at Bill, before turning her head back to the woman in front of her. She still could not believe that this was happening. But she was not going to complain. Hermione moved her head to the nape of the blonde's neck and reveled in the woman's sweet, intoxicating scent.

"_Oui et non, _my dear William. Yes because, as you see, I have someone here; and no because I was _never interested _in you in the first place. I trust that I made that clear that day."

"So…you like women."

Bill was shaking. Fleur merely shot him another sympathetic smile. The man's face contorted into what seemed to be a mixture of agony and anger before stomping off down the stairs.

"He's gone."

Hermione woke up from her daydream with a jolt upon hearing Fleur's soft whisper in her ear.

"Oh. Uh-um…I'm sorry." She reluctantly peeled herself off the blonde, immediately feeling cold at the loss of contact with the blonde.

"Don't be," Fleur gave a small smile, sitting herself right back up as Hermione scuttled back. "This is the second time you have helped me. I could never thank you enough."

Hermione could only glance away and try to conceal the blush on her face. Thankfully, the room was rather dim; only a bit brighter from the light that snuck in from the opened door.

"You are…erm…welcome." _Very; _the brunette mentally noted. She seemed to be saying this line a lot recently.

Fleur laughed lightly and glance at the doorway. "Looks like I am rid of my problem."

Hermione could only nod mutely.

Fleur turned back to the quiet brunette, regarding her thoughtfully.

"This may be the solution to _both _our _problems."_

Hermione looked back to her in confusion, only to meet the intense gaze of the part-Veela.

And Hermione swore that she was liquefied at that very moment.


	7. Out Of The Dark

_A.N: Sudden urge to write, despite being in the midst of my Prelims. Reviews would be nice encouragements!_

_Thanks to those who reviewed; sorry if I didn't reply you because I'm really busy. _

**Chapter 7: Out Of The Dark**

Hermione went to sleep a confused girl that night. Or should we say; _woman?_

Let us just take it that she was one _confused young woman _that night.

All she knew was that Fleur's gaze sent her insides churning. Not in those nauseating, vomit-inducing kind of way; but in a surprisingly pleasant one. And the feel of Fleur's slender body beneath her own?

_Oh, please don't delve into it, author._

Well, that much you can guess.

But Hermione's confusion was not cleared. "Solution to..._both their problems_?" That was one thing the brunette just could not get. Of course, she did try to ask the blonde what exactly she meant. But she had barely gotten the question out of her mouth when Ginny came into the room with a whole hoard of spellbooks and new robes for the new school year. That put an abrupt end to their conversation; before it had even started proper.

Needless to say, Hermione did not appreciated that much. Ginny took one brief look at the two of them before turning away quickly, though not quick enough for Hermione to miss the look that came upon her face. Fleur did not give any sign that she noticed Ginny's hostility, but she decidedly put an end to the conversation thereafter. The Frenchwoman gave Hermione a wink that sent her insides roaring like the most treacherous sea again before sweeping out of the room. Ginny did not bother to even acknowledge her departure, and Fleur did not bother to make it known to her either.

A cold wave of awkwardness took over after Fleur left. Ginny was busying herself with her school things at her bed right in the corner of the room. Hermione's bed was barely two feet away, running parallel to the red-head's single bed. Fleur's was next to Hermione's, cramped up against the other wall and nearest to the door. She had insisted on taking that bed so that she would not feel so 'confined in that cramped room'.

Hermione had her back facing Ginny, but there was not much need for that. She knew that the younger girl was already deliberately trying to ignore her from the way she was barely trying to keep the noise level down. Hermione took it as her cue to leave, and picked herself off the bed quite reluctantly. She ran a hand over the sheet before she left though, feeling the warmth that Fleur had left behind, before feeling very much like a pervert for what she did.

Dinner that night was a relatively quiet affair again, the only exception was with Molly and Arthur Weasley bickering over who to invite over for Harry's birthday celebration, which was in two days time. Harry, wedged between Ron and Ginny, was burning red and obviously feeling quite bad that they were having an argument, but his meek efforts to intervene were merely cut short by Molly's "It's all right dear, it's no trouble."

Ron was totally oblivious to everything, or at least; he appeared to be. Perhaps he was just trying to drown his irritation and jealousy with food, though it was hard to say for sure. Bill had solemnly planted himself back in his old seat right next to his father, his face tight. He looked as though he was in pain. It was almost amusing; the way he stubbornly avoided the faces of Hermione and Fleur, to the point that he even asked his father to ask Hermione to pass the gravy, although Hermione was just seated right beside him. Arthur Weasley merely absent-mindedly reached across the table (which was not very long) and shoved it to his son before continuing his fired-up tirade with his wife.

Fleur was right next to Hermione again, quite glad that her problem with Bill Weasley was solved. Ginny glared at her a couple of times over her plate, but Fleur paid little attention. Ginny did not like her all along, so it was nothing out of the ordinary. Judging from Bill's ego, he would not complain about his failed attempt to court a woman voluntarily to anyone. Unless Ginny probed him about it, it was highly unlikely that she knew about the 'relationship'.

What about Hermione?

She too, noticed Ginny throwing daggers in Fleur's direction. But she, unlike Fleur, took the red-head's hostility seriously. Now, where did that come from?

Hermione herself did not expect to feel agitated just from Ginny's hostile glares towards Fleur. Sure, the young red-head has been like that right from the start. But things have changed. Ginny knew that she liked Fleur. And she obviously was not very accepting of the fact. Needless to say, that hurt Hermione. The younger girl had been her best friend ever since second year, always accepting of her. Who knew that the girl would turn against her just because of who she likes?

But it was not just that. Hermione knew it. The lion within her rouse from its slumber and roared angrily at Ginny's hostility towards Fleur. It was her innate protective nature rising up. She would never let anything hurt what is hers-

Hermione choked on her spaghetti, shocked at the thought that just went through her mind. She was starting to question her own sanity now. Perhaps she was put under some form of spell? Maybe it was Ginny; just look at that smug expression on her face… Or maybe it was the Veela's damn thrall?

Her choking intensified when she felt a warm slender hand on her back. Upon opening her watery eyes, she saw Fleur's concerned face that forced her to screw her eyes shut again. It was bad enough to embarrass herself by choking, but it was a thousand times worse that she has to make a fool of herself when in front of Fleur. _Fleur. _Whom Hermione was willing to bet who has never once choked over water or stupid spaghetti strands in her entire life.

Molly and Arthur stopped bickering momentarily upon realizing Hermione's tragic situation. Bringing up six boys in the household made Molly quite accustomed to such situations, and she calmly withdrew her wand. With a quick, silent spell, Hermione's airway was cleared.

Everyone turned their attention back to whatever they were doing prior to Hermione's untimely interruption. Fleur though, continued to pat Hermione's back as she tried to catch her breath. Hermione avoided the blonde's eyes, glad to have an excuse for her flushed complexion instead of 'Fleur's making me feel hot'. Avoiding Fleur's gaze did not make her overlook Bill Weasley's one though. All right, scratch that; make it Bill Weasley's _very angry _one.

The underlying tension at the dinner table was once again, palpable enough to make breathing difficult. The oblivious would think that the two bickering adults were scary, but the observant ones would agree that the hidden politics were the scariest. Hermione gave an inward sigh of relief when she regained her breath, nodding her thanks to Fleur. The blonde too, went back to her meal; still oblivious to a certain male's burning jealousy.

Hermione went looking for Fleur after dinner to finish what they had barely started. Ginny stomped right back up to the room after the meal, and Hermione did not fancy going up there to make things even more awkward than they already were between them. Besides, she was hopping in her skin to figure out what Fleur really wanted.

It was lucky that she had asked Fleur where she hid herself from Bill earlier, for it made locating Fleur a much easier task. Though the Black's mansion was not exactly very huge, it was complex enough, and Hermione really did not want to stumble upon hidden traps in the numerous rooms that have yet to be cleaned. Even though she was absolutely sure that Fleur would never step foot in said rooms.

"Fleur?"

The silent Veela barely acknowledged Hermione when she peeped into the room. But Hermione could see the blonde's silhouette against the moonlight, her hair emitting a soft, silvery halo. Hermione's breath hitched slightly.

_Damn Veela. Damn thrall. Damn hormones._

"Am I…um…interrupting you?"

"_Non," _Hermione shivered at the sound of Fleur's French lilt. "You can come in. Close the door after yourself please. _Merci."_

Hastily the brunette entered; some part of her fearing that the woman would change her mind. All that was illuminating the room was the moonlight (_and Fleur's brilliance). _Mentally, the brunette chided herself. _Now, where had that thought come from, little Miss Obsessed-Stalker?_

Fleur was a paradox herself. Hermione dared not venture to close to the blonde, afraid that stepping into her light would be to taint her untouchable brilliance. She looked forlorn and abandoned, standing solitarily in the moonlit room, but at the same time, she seemed to be a mystic being sent down from the skies, someone out of the world. She seemed ordinary in the gloom, yet there was still this soft misty glow around her that made her beauty ethereal. She looked vulnerable, yet still appeared powerfully independent in her stoic posture. Hermione was unsure of how exactly to approach this enigma of a beauty.

Silence ruled. It seemed natural; and both women felt strangely at ease in the silence in each other's company. It was neither suffocating nor awkward; it just felt natural and comforting. It was as though the two shared a telepathic link between them, subconsciously aware of what to do in each other's presence. It was an instinct.

Hermione felt her legs move her to stand beside Fleur, who was gazing out of the window; her eyes distant. Fleur appeared to be unaware of Hermione's change in position; even if she was aware, she made no indication.

The two women stood there for what seemed to be like eons to the outsider, but to them, blissfully absorbed in the moment, it felt like time barely passed at all. And then finally…

"England seems really peaceful at night."

Hermione was brought back to reality by Fleur's quiet voice. It was almost a whisper; but clearly audible to the brunette whose ears seek out the pleasantly smooth tone of the older woman's voice.

"It is, around this area. Some places never seem to sleep though. But I guess it's the same for most countries."

"_Oui."_

Fleur fell back into silence; before it was broken by a tentative question from the younger brunette.

"Do you…miss France?"

Fleur had a sad smile on her face when she turned slightly to look at Hermione. Shadows cast over half of her face; the gloom only serving to bring out the sadness in the features.

"I do."

"Then why-"

"-did I choose to stay?"

Fleur tilted her head expectantly, guessing what the younger woman wanted to ask. Hermione nodded.

"I came over on impulse. My parents refuse to let me join the movement in France; and since Dumbledore offered to let me join the Order, I took it up."

"Your parents love you."

"_Oui. _And I love them too. I can't stand to see them working so hard against You-Know-Who every day, risking their lives while I stay sheltered at home. I want to do my part as well…" Her voice trailed off. Hermione could make out the pain in her voice, and she felt her chest constrict involuntarily in sympathy. "…_but I just didn't think that I would miss them so much."_

Hermione's respect for the woman grew. She used to think of the part-Veela as an air-headed bimbo who was only good at charming people's brains off with her looks. But their increased interactions for the past few days had revealed to her so much beneath the looks. Layers and layers of preconceived notions and prejudice she had of the woman are peeled off day by day; and the brunette felt a slight twinge of guilt every time a layer is shed, as well as a…hint of something that she could not put into words.

It seemed only natural for Hermione to close the gap between herself and the forlorn woman and embrace her. And that she did, before she even knew it. Fleur stiffened as the younger woman's arms found themselves around her back and her neck, but relaxed into the embrace after the initial shock. After a brief pause, Fleur gratefully wrapped her own sinewy arms around her support, and placed her forehead on the brunette's shoulder.

"…_I thought I would get use to it, the sense of…loneliness. But non. Last year, with the Tournament, at least I still had Gabrielle with me. She's like my little rock, always being there to support me."_

Fleur's voice would barely be audible if not for the fact that they were in such close proximity. Hermione continued to listen to her and held her closely, knowing that the French are affectionate people from all the stereotyping that she has heard. Her instincts took over, and she slowly rubbed circles on the small of the girl's back to comfort her.

"…_it's harder since we can't write letters now because they may be intercepted; it is killing me to not know how they are doing back home. After Cedric's death… it's painful to know that the people around you will…It's a war…and people will…die…"_

Fleur paused, and took a deep breath.

"_But I came here to fight in the war; I will not go back on my own word and determination."_

Fleur lifted her head to look into Hermione's eyes. It almost seem as though there was a smoldering blue flame burning fiercely in the depths of her gaze. Hermione herself was drawn to the intensity of emotions etched in the features of the older girl. She was so young, barely much older than Hermione herself, and yet the determination in her burned stronger than that of most. Of course, Hermione knew that she herself faced the same, if not worse circumstances. But at least, she has people around her who she knew she could lean on for support. But Fleur…she was virtually alone in a foreign land.

Hermione moved the hand around the blonde's neck to her shoulder, and locked her gaze with the part-Veela.

"You are not alone."

Fleur gave her a grateful smile, though it never reached her cerulean blue orbs; for bright light infiltrated the room at the next moment, blinding the two women momentarily.

"YOU!"

Ginny stood at the doorway, her eyes glinting dangerously in shock and with a look of one betrayed.

"Hermione Granger! So the reason why you have been avoiding us is because you are meeting up with this…" Ginny spat out the word with venom, "_woman_ in secret rendezvous?"

Fleur blinked furiously at the accusation. "_Excusez moi? _You are the ones who are avoiding her!"

Hermione though, was too shell-shocked for words.

"You think? Ask her whether that's the case!" Ginny spat back with an accusatory finger jabbed in Hermione's direction. The fiery-haired girl's accusations shook Hermione out of her shock-induced silence.

"Stop pointing fingers, Ginerva Weasley. You are not the best person to do that, and you know that yourself."

Ginny looked livid. As if the situation could not get any worse, a voice piped out from behind the red-head.

"What's going on?" Ron lumbered to the doorway to see Fleur and Hermione in the room, exchanging glares with his sister.

"Ask the two of them what they were doing."

Ronald gave a questioning glance to Hermione.

"We were just talking! What's wrong with that?"

And a confused Ron turned back to Ginny.

"They were tangled so tightly with each other! You call that talking?"

"Huh?" Ronald's face was scrunched up in confusion, before a look of comprehension dawn upon him. Then, the look evolved to become one of shock.

"Hermione? You and HER?"

"No, wait, let me explain-"

"So that's why you are so bloody protective over her! I knew there was something going on!"

"Wait, Ron, look, I can ex-" Hermione barely got her words out before Ronald sprinted down the stairs, the look on his face a difficult one to decipher. "Thanks a lot, Ginny."

Ginny gave the two of them one last look, lingering particularly on Hermione, her eyes bearing a hint of pain. Then, she turned around and went after her brother.

Fleur silently watched the two depart. It was the first time she felt so…not in control of the situation. Well, Bill already thought that they were together; a good thing seeing that he did not bother her anymore after knowing that. But now, with Ginny and Ron in the mix… Fleur knew that Hermione was in a real tight situation.

The brunette's head was down, her hair draping over her face, shielding her emotions from Fleur. The woman felt worried for the brunette, seeing that she was the cause of the conflict in the first place. But she has no idea on how to comfort the younger girl.

"Hermione, I am sorry. It is my fault; I can explain to them."

Hermione looked up at her, her mouth twitched slightly in an attempt to smile.

"It's all right, Fleur. I'll talk to them. We need to talk anyway. Don't worry about it; it's not your fault."

The girl placed a hand on the blonde's arm, and then swept out of the room, leaving the blonde in her semi-darkness once again.


	8. The Agreement

_A.N. All right, I'm back, for now. Not going to have much time to upload these days, but I'll try to write whenever I can. This is a short chapter, but I like to think of it as a transition :)_

_Review replies:  
r- Thank you for your awesome review! Glad to know that I'm on the right track, haha! Thank you for your support!_

_Daydream Wonder, immo, daisyorlena, Wolvenkite, I mark him Zero and mine- Glad you love it :D Thanks for the review!_

_Eclipz, Darkshadowlord, bitten2, saphirath, mylovelyminion, nightshade88- Here's your update! Thank you for the well-wishes!_

_Coa, pfh67- Thank you for the appreciation of this story! I'll keep the standard and quality there, if not make it better! :)_

_Alcandre- Thanks for the suggestion! Will work along those lines ;D_

* * *

**Chapter 8: The Agreement**

"_All right, spit it out."_

_Hermione stood in the doorway, her voice laced will cool authority. Ginny was fuming in a corner, glaring at the waste paper bin as though it offended her with its presence. Harry and Ron silently exchanged gazes, neither speaking a word. The atmosphere in the room was awkward; tensed. Tension proudly took the position of sovereign in the room._

_A young man rose from his seat when Hermione barged in, a look of confusion gracing his face. He raised a callous hand to scratch the back of his neck awkwardly, mercilessly ruffling up his unruly hair of inky black._

"_Look Hermione, I think it's best if we hear from you."_

"_About what?"_

"_Um, you know. What's going on between you and Fleur?"_

_The brunette being question scoffed. The ridiculousness of the situation was humorous. How on earth did she ended up in that situation; Hermione had no idea. But the fact that remained was that she had never imagined herself being stuck in that position._

"_We're just very good fri-"_

"_Bullshit! You two were practically snogging each other in that room!"_

_Voice dripping with fury, the fiery red-head female lashed out at Hermione like a whip. If possible, her hair would be a halo of the flames from hell around her head. Ginny's eyes were gleaming with unrestrained rage, and Hermione smartly took note of that. _

"_Look, you don't know what you are saying."_

"_I saw it with my own eyes, Granger."_

_The brunette threw her hands out in exasperation, letting loose a frustrated huff at the same time. It never failed to amaze her how people could always complicate things and refuse the truth when it was blatantly presented to them on a silver platter. Of course, she already knew that Ginny was a stubborn mule, pretty much like Molly Weasley. That girl could always give Hermione a run for her money. _

_Obstinacy was a persistent trait in the family for sure, Hermione noted mentally, remembering a certain Bill Weasley's annoyingly incessant attempts at getting together with Fleur. Who was the issue at hand. Everything seemed to have arisen due to one particular part-Veela._

"_So what if you did, Weasley? It doesn't prove anything."_

_The youngest Weasley of the family frowned at the cool rebuttal of her best friend. Deep inside, she could not believe that they were actually fighting over someone whom they barely even knew. It was stupid; the girl had to admit. But what seemed stupider was how Hermione Granger failed to have notice the blonde bimbo's… Ginny could not put a finger to the reason why she hated said blonde bimbo; she just hated her. _

_The use of his last name apparently brought the muted red-head boy back to the reality laid out before his eyes. _

"_Blimey Hermione. Fleur?"_

"_Yes, you have a problem with that like your darling sister, Ronald?"_

_Harry thought it to be a smart choice to intervene at that moment. "Look, mate; it's not in our position to judge who 'Mione li-"_

_The lanky red-head shook his head, eyes wide like saucers. _

"_I can't believe you got hook before me, man! With such a hot gal too?"_

_

* * *

_

A lilting laughter rang out lightly in the room when Hermione recounted the talk to her companion. Fleur had already fallen asleep the previous day when Hermione returned to the girls' room after the dialogue. Ginny only crept back into the room with a grumpy face after an hour, which she presumably spent in the boys' room who were most likely trying to set her straight on accepting the two women's 'new-found relationship'. Of course, Fleur was pleasantly surprised by Ronald's declaration; she had thought that the boy would react negatively to the fact that his best female friend is 'gay and attached'. Both woman had thought that Ronald liked Hermione, and had thought that Ronald would be the most problematic obstacle to cross. However, now it seemed that his sister was more of a problem than him.

A breathless Fleur fell back onto her bed, a tinge of red shining through her cheeks. Outwardly, Hermione chuckled lightly at Fleur's reaction. Her eyes grazed over the radiant complexion of her companion, and inwardly, she appreciated the part-Veela's beauty. Her hands twitched as she fought a strong urge to stroke the pristine, porcelain skin of the Frenchwoman. The Englishwoman swallowed nervously and shut her eyes tightly for a moment, concentrating hard on getting the inappropriate thoughts out of her mind.

"So," the silvery-haired woman breathed out in amusement, "what are we now? Wait, are you all right?"

Liquid brown eyes shot open, and the pupils dilated upon meeting the concerned blue eyes trained on them.

"What? Oh yes, yes, I am."

Fleur smiled again, a smile that sent Hermione silently hating how Fleur Delacour's smiles could effectively reduce her to a brainless heap. "That is good to know. What is our relationship going to be now?"

Hermione's face heated up at the mention of 'relationship'. The room seemed to have warmed up considerably too, considering that the younger woman suddenly felt warm under her clothes.

"I-I…no idea."

Fleur laughed a lilting laugh and placed a cool palm on the brunette's cheek. The cool touch of the older woman sent an involuntary shiver throughout Hermione's body. She pinched her lips tightly together to prevent a whimper of pleasure from escaping.

"I'm glad I still can render you speechless, Hermione. Well, since they are all under the impression that we are together; why not keep it up and give them a show? It'll deter the unwanted Weasleys from attempting to make the moves on us." Fleur grinned, flashing her canines.

At that moment, Hermione was so enamored by the French beauty that she could only nod mutely in agreement, without thinking through what she was agreeing to. But of course, her agreement would be something that our dear protagonists will come to appreciate as time goes by.


	9. Hatred

_A.N. Baby steps to returning; pardon the short chapter. _

**Chapter 9: Hat-red**

_I hate you. I hate you and your blonde bimbo. No; I hate your blonde bimbo even more than I hate you. This crap doesn't explain how a friendship of five, FIVE years, cannot even compare to less than five months of interactions. And it was not even a constant interaction over a period of five measley months. _

_It is frustrating, annoying, agonizing; something inside me is just screaming at me to break free. __My actions make no sense to me, my words, my pining. You are always a friend, are you not? No, you were always a friend. Nothing more._

_But do I want more?_

_I don't know. Maybe I do; maybe this explains the sour, clenching feeling I feel in my guts whenever I see her touch you. I can't stand the way she touches you. She always seem to be so gentle; as though she is being careful not to break you. It is just so nauseatingly disgusting. _

_That day when I caught the two of you in your little moment; I thought a part of me died. _

_They have always believed that it was Harry. Heroic Harry. Always swooping in to save the day like a knight in shining armour. Hell, even I have always believed that Harry was the one. But no, he isn't my knight. He is just my brother. Another one to add to my large pool of biological ones. It became clear who my knight really is. It was the wrong 'H' all along._

_You are so awfully brilliant that it is hard not to be drawn to you. People recognises and praise the boys for their heroism and bravery; you for your brains. But they forgot to mention how the boys are always bumbling fools who throw themselves forward without an ounce of thought. They would have failed on so many accounts if not for your brains. But I recognised that. I gave you the recognition and respect and much more. Maybe _too much _more. _

_They have always treated you like one of them; but only I knew that you still felt alone. Only I could sense that you wanted someone to recognise you as the beautiful woman you are growing to be. Only I recognised and gave you that. But you never realised that. _

_A part of me can't believe that I allow you to drive me so insane, discarding away logic. A part of me hates you for it. But then, some sick part of me clings on so tightly to you, with faith and hope that it will work out. Faith, hope; never logic. And I never understood why._

_I hate how the mention of your name can always charge me up no matter how exhausted I am. I hate how you cheer me up so easily with a message whenever I am down. I hate how you are so logical and clear of what you want in life. I hate how you just seem so perfect; always so bloody perfect. Hermione _perfect _Granger. I hate how I just can't hate you long enough to not like you-_

"Damn it!"

A furious red-head slammed her hands sharply down on the desk, causing a few black droplets to escape the ink bottle and celebrate their freedom on the opened diary that sat in front of her. Ginny thrusted her face into her hands, breathing heavily.

Two weeks have passed since their little engagement in the room. It would be back to Hogwarts for all the schooling teens in a week's time. And the totally negative thing was that her ex-best friend has been spending almost every moment with a stupid blonde veela. It infuriated her to no end, especially when the fact that they have been the 'bestest of all friends' for a good five years. Well, until the blonde bombshell came intruding into the picture uninvited.

At least the _damn Veela _would not be returning back to Hogwarts.

* * *

"What; you are coming with us?"

Fleur let out a chuckle at the stunned reaction from the girl leaning against her side and continued to gently stroke said girl's hair.

"Why yes; I am. Did you not hear what I said?" Glancing down, she surveyed the shorter woman with an amused look on her face.

Recognising the confused and perplex look on the face of Hermione Granger, Fleur shrugged her shoulders. "Professor Dumbledore needed a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher after what happened to Mad-Eye last term."

Hermione felt her stomach lurch and suddenly, the room seemed too small for the two of them. If the older woman was indeed heading back to school with them, would that mean an end to their 'relationship'? After all, it was not like there would be a Bill Weasley there to guard against. But on the other hand, the blonde's presence would be greatly welcomed, considering that she and her best friend, or rather, _ex-best friend, _have not been on the best of terms lately. Then again, there were still the professional boundaries to be considered. Albeit it was true that Hermione was quite an outstanding student, being associated with a _professor _in all but a strictly professional way might be highly detrimental to both-

"I do wonder what is running through your beautiful head at the moment, _ma chere. _I highly doubt that it is me though."

The light voice jolted the brunette from her deep and confusing mesh of thoughts. She did not realise that she had momentarily zoned out. A gentle hand with comforting warmth rested itself upon her right cheek, directing her gaze towards the liquid-blue eyes of her companion.

"You seem worried."

Hermione found herself struggling to breathe as she held the gaze. "It's nothing."

"It's all right, _chere."_

The younger woman took another long gaze at her companion and then turned away hastily while mumbling an almost-incoherent sentence. "Whatdoesthismakeus?"

"I beg your pardon? I am still trying to grasp the English language, _ma chere!" _Fleur laughed.

A deep breath later.

"I said: what will that make us?"

The worry in the brunette was clearly evident. It was probably sadism, but Fleur found herself rejoicing in the fact that her younger friend was actually worried about the effects of her posting on their relationship, or rather, 'relationship'. The two have gotten quite close over the past few weeks after their 'declaration' of their 'affections'; it was not surprising that Hermione would be concerned about their friendship. To some possibly sadist extent, Fleur found pride in the fact that the brunette treasured the relationship as much as she herself did.

"Nothing; we can just keep up what we are doing now." A smile.

Hermione was not sure whether she would like that.

She wanted _more_.


	10. Wrong Weasley?

It was decided that the new French professor and the Trio will feign ignorance to Fleur's new position at the school so as not to draw attention to her involvement with the Order. It was all fine and well with the rest, though Ronald was vocal in his disappointment of not being able to see the 'couple' cuddling up to each other (to which Hermione responded with a hearty knock to his head wearing a tinge of blush on her cheeks). Ginny sulked silently in the corner as all these went on, her face betraying nothing. Fleur professionally agreed to the arrangement, but had the good grace to shoot a wink towards Hermione, inflaming her face even more.

And as the train chugged its merry way out of the station with a teary Molly Weasley waving her stubby arms in farewell, the Trio (plus Ginny) sat quietly in their carriage, not knowing what to say to each other. Hermione and Ginny, not surprisingly, had placed as much distance between each other as possible, with the brunette right next to the window and the red-head by the door. Harry sat opposite Hermione, ironically trying to appear engross in a book while Ron sat snoring one seat away next to her.

The brunette stared distractedly out of the window for the next hour, her brows creased as jumbled thoughts disrupt the peace of her mind. She paid no heed to the scowling young woman in the same carriage, not even when Ginny stomped out with an excuse to look for Luna Lovegood. Not even when the door of their private carriage slid open once again.

"My, what a surprise!'

The brunette whipped her head around at the sound of the lilting French voice to meet twinkling blue eyes staring amusedly at her.

"Hi Fleur," Harry responded politely as Hermione tried to find her tongue. "What are you doing here?" For the sake of appearances, they were told to play along with the scenario.

Fleur laughed and Hermione could have sworn that she nearly melted at that. She strode over to the empty seat next to Hermione and slid down, laying a slender hand on the younger woman's thigh. "It's all right, Harry; no one knows that I am in here. It's safe; I've checked. I was simply bored out of my mind and thought that I would just pop in to say 'hi'". She gave a sideway glance at Hermione and winked.

Hermione felt her face burned redder than ever.

Fleur leaned in closer and whispered teasingly in her ear, "relax, _mon chere; _you look as though I am about to eat you up. Just be normal."

Hermione exhaled shakily and turned to look into those startling blue eyes once again, eyes which offered her reassurance and comfort. Her hand found the one on her thigh, and both intertwined naturally. Harry surreptitiously glanced at the two and let out a barely audible sigh of relief as he saw Hermione relax. It was not long before he drifted off to sleep, joining the chorus of light snores coming from Ron.

Hermione was silently glad of the absence of an audience.

"What's on your mind, beautiful?"

"Erm, n-nothing."

"I shall let that question pass for now," Fleur whispered teasingly. "Now, where's your good friend, Ginny?"

Hermione tensed and shot a glare at the blonde, "you know she's not exactly my good friend these days."

"_Oui, _that I do know. You haven't spoken to her yet, I presume?"

Hermione sighed.

"Not since that disastrous attempt, no."

Fleur raised her other hand and began absent-mindedly toying with a lock of Hermione's hair. "You ought to find out what exactly's wrong, darling. It's bad to let the ill-feelings fester." Then, with an amused tone, "You know, sometimes I suspect that she's jealous of me."

Hermione shot Fleur an incredulous look, at which Fleur chuckled.

"Yes, from the way she has been looking at you ever since our 'coming out'. I don't know why I did not notice it earlier. There's a good chance that I am wrong about which Weasley likes you."

The brunette felt her stomach sink hearing Fleur speak so casually about people liking her, as though she did not cared that others pine for brunette.

_Is this faux relationship really nothing to her?_

"Don't worry, my dear; it'll work out in the end. Just let me know what you want; I'll do my best to help you get it."

_What if I want…you?_

Before they knew it, the sliding doors zipped open revealing a red-faced Ginny Weasley. She glared at the 'couple' as Harry jolted awake at the sudden noise.

"I thought we were suppose to pretend that we do not know you?"

"Ah. There was no one around for us to play pretend, Miss Weasley."

"Well, there is now, _Professor Delacour."_

Fleur simply shrugged and gave Hermione a small grin before laying a gentle peck at the corner of her lips. "I guess I better head off now, Miss Granger. Have a pleasant ride and I'll see you in the castle." Yet another wink.

* * *

The feast ended with excited chatters and giggles and lots of blatant staring towards the staff table. Quite obviously, the new appointment in staff was a welcomed change to the students. Hermione could not help but feel a strong wave of jealousy rearing up within her as talk of the _new DADA professor, the Triwizard Champion of Beauxbatons, the hot French Veela _reached her ears. It did not help matters that Ginny Weasley seemed to have noticed her discomfort and was enjoying it greatly, smirking with a painfully mocking look in her eyes.

The brunette could not hold her emotions in any longer. With the dismissal of the feast, she stood up immediately and headed for the doors.

Her silent retreat was not unnoticed by a certain blonde at the staff table though.


End file.
